Your Love Is a Symphony
by Renegone
Summary: A love story between Renegade FemShep and Thane Krios. Now comes with a Kaidan subplot! Rated M for Mature language. Please indulge responsibly. Batteries not included.
1. Numb

"Commander Shepard! Welcome back!" Donnelly seemed surprised to see his commanding officer down in the engine room again so soon. Well, she couldn't blame him for that. She was a little surprised to be here herself.

"Donnelly, Daniels," she greeted, forcing a pleasant note into her voice. "Soup's up," she continued conversationally, thumbing over her shoulder. "Why don't you two take a break and grab something to eat?"

The Engineers exchanged glances. "Normally Ken and I go on shifts, so the engines are never left unattended," she explained. Ah. She felt a bit embarrassed for not having thought of that. She also briefly thought of the local rumor that the two were an item, and how unlikely it was if they never got any free time together. Although, hell. It had worked for her and -

"The engines will take care of themselves for a while," she responded, maybe a little too hastily. "Besides, I'll be down here taking a look at some reports. Just an hour," she warned, lest she appear too encouraging. She had a reputation to uphold after all.

"Thanks, Commander!" Donnelly replied gratefully, and though Daniels seemed more insightful she, too, wasn't about to give up an unscheduled hour of free time.

"Thank you, Commander," she echoed. Then the two disappeared. Belatedly, Shepard realized she had no idea what she was going to do with the silence she had won herself.

But she couldn't deny needing it. Reading an email like that in front of the entire bridge crew had been – well, less than stealthy. She was sure Chambers had been staring at her, probably doing her psycho-analysis bullshit while her CO tried to keep herself composed. The nosy little gossip probably read her email – that was probably how the Illusive Man always seemed to know all her business. Kelly always seemed intrigued when announcing personal emails and bored when they were assignments from Cerberus. She probably should have been paying better attention this time. Maybe she would have noticed the look of pity in the younger woman's eyes (and consequently knocked her the fuck out for it. At least in her head.)

Instead she had to be content in showing absolutely nothing as she read Kaidan's note. When she was done she calmly set a course to Haestrom – better to let real problems be the focus and let her own slide to the background – then left to 'get a nap.' In the five steps it took to get from the navigation console to the elevator door she ticked through the list of places she could be alone in the ship, in much the same fashion she selected cover locations during battle: Her quarters – no, everyone knew where to find her there. Garrus had set up shop in the main battery and would spy her discomposure immediately if she went there. The Observation decks would have been ideal but they were both occupied, and anyway the idea of the black, quiet emptiness of space staring back at her made her shudder. She wanted to drown out her thoughts, not amplify them. The loudest room in the ship, then, would have to be it. She could clear out the inhabitants easily – a perk of being captain.

So here she was.

Now what?

She hadn't been in this position often, overwhelmed. It probably had something to do with her childhood. When you're on the streets from a young age you learn to take everything in stride, or become mincemeat for some tougher competitor. Doesn't matter how bad things get, you learn to cope.

That's why she'd been able to get this far without allowing her personal problems affect her, she figured. She had been coasting along, dealing with those things she knew how to deal with – mercs, assassins, thugs, almost-certain-death – and leaving those things that stumped her behind. The confrontation with Kaidan she could deal with – she'd been in lots of fights, after all. She faced his wrath, she lost, and she took it on the chin. Tough luck. On to the next fight.

A heartfelt email was the kind of blow she didn't know how to dodge. It was emotions and feelings and sincerity when she had been prepared for more yelling or arguing. She decided to drown it out instead.

She wandered slowly down the grating towards the arc reactor, enjoying the sound of each hollow footfall. The machinery hummed loudly. The electricity arced overhead. Energy buzzed across her skin and through her head. If she closed her eyes, she could even feel the waves from the reactor jiggling her teeth. She stood at the bottom of the room and stared up as the lights danced around the walls, trying not to feel, trying to think without feeling. That's all she needed.

Goddamn, if only he hadn't mentioned Ilos. She tried to think straight and it was interrupted inevitably by rapidfire memories – his hands, her skin, his voice in her ear, his breath mixed with hers. The memories were incomplete, but they were more than enough to make her wince.

They had never really been alike. She was an any-means-necessary kind of fighter, and he knew the Alliance code of conduct forward and backward. He worried about regulations, and she would have taken him to bed the first time she laid eyes on him. The fact that he'd even come to her before Ilos had amused her, and she had teased him incessantly afterwards. "Wanna come to my quarters, or you gonna make me wait for shore leave?" Most of the time, he turned her down – and she loved every minute of it.

And there were other memories, too. More painful ones. Aside from Joker, he was the last person she had seen alive in this world, before she died. She had ordered him to save himself, and he had told her no. With her last breaths, she had been at once glad she had been able to make him obey, and sorry that she hadn't taken the time to say goodbye.

Waking up two years later hurt her, but she couldn't change it. She could only deal with it. She had other things to manage, and just knowing he had made it out alive himself had been enough for her to get through those things. His outright denial of her on Horizon had hurt worse, but she couldn't change that, either. Part of her even agreed with him, or at the very least understood him. She couldn't even blame him for the way he felt. She could only accept it – like she accepted the loss of two years time, accepted that she now had to fight the Collectors, and accepted that no one would help her but Cerberus. She was getting good at accepting shit and moving on.

Which is why she was surprised to find his email hit her the way it did. Except that, deep down somewhere, she honestly wasn't. If Kaidan had accepted her offer and joined her in this mission, she would have jumped at the chance to be with him again. She'd have let the crew think what they wanted, and enjoyed every moment she wasn't pretending to be untouchable – when she was being touched by him. But he hadn't. He had abandoned her. And though she knew she had abandoned him first and it was hard for him... Even though he had every right to be suspicious of Cerberus... Even though it was just _him_ to trust the Alliance over anyone (and she loved that about him)... Even though she _forgave _him everything...

She couldn't keep her feelings from changing because of it. It would always come down to this. They were too different people. She didn't want him to give up everything he stood for to be with her, and would hate herself for asking. But she still wished that being with her _was_ everything he stood for. She didn't want him to change, but she never wanted to feel _this_ way ever again.

She didn't know how long she stood there alternating between thinking, feeling, and remembering, before she finally gave up. She was trying to talk herself into wearing an emotion that no longer fit her, because it had once felt so good to have on. That didn't stop it from being two sizes too small today, just like _that_ didn't stop it from hurting. It was like taking her love off life support. She knew it was gone, but that didn't make it any easier to let go.

The thoughts got too heavy for her, and she sighed, turning her back to the control console and sliding down to the floor. She closed her eyes and let her head rest back against the metal, propping her arms on top of her knees in front of her. The metal conveyed the hum and buzz of the room perfectly and she let herself be lost to it. It was like floating weightlessly in the ocean with your ears beneath the water. It helped her go numb.

She let it consume her, how long she didn't know. Finally a niggling awareness crept into her ocean, a physical feeling that made her more conscious of her surroundings. She slowly opened her eyes and was not surprised to find a pair so dark they were almost black staring back at her. She blinked at him.

"The Engineers return," he said softly. It occurred to her, quite belatedly, that she liked Thane's voice - even though it was otherworldly and alien. It was perfectly calm, like the smooth glass top of an undisturbed pool. He offered a hand to help her up and she accepted. Wordlessly, he turned to lead the way to the elevator.

The ride up was silent. The car coasted to a stop at the crew deck and he stepped off, posture as unerringly straight as ever. "Thanks," she said simply, without further explanation. She was glad that he had never asked for one.

He stopped and turned around, briefly inspecting her. Then he inclined his head softly in a bow and left.


	2. When Your Day Is Done

She had always felt particularly safe and warm in his arms. He murmured something indistinct into her ear and she grinned, eventually giggling like a school girl. She turned halfway in his arms and looked into his handsome face with that strange sense of gratitude and wonder. When their lips met, it felt real and complete, and then deepened until it was fire hot and impossible to ignore. It took her breath away. Lack of control was her worst enemy on any other day, but she let the heady feeling of reckless abandon overtake her now. You could never control something you shared, and sharing stolen moments with him meant everything.

When her eyes slid slowly open, when the experience she had been reliving slipped back into its proper place as a memory, when she realized she was no longer in the Captain's quarters of the old Normandy and that an entire life had been lived since the one that had crept up on her in her sleep – she snapped. "Ugh!" she half-shouted in anger at herself, turning immediately to punch her mattress angrily.

Was she serious? How long was she going to behave like some lovesick teenager? This was ridiculous, and she had to put a stop to it. She had her mopey moment, and that was it. And if she was going to be a sad sad pathetic sleeper, she just wouldn't sleep.

So there.

She wasn't going to let this turn into a habit, a long stream of interruptions to a mission too critical to fail. That wasn't going to happen. She would defeat this, just like everything else she faced.

And if that meant she needed an old fashioned remedy for what ailed her, so be it. She was out of the door of her cabin in an instant, footsteps as quick and determined as if she were on her way to discipline an unruly crew member, except the only one being slapped around here was her.

She didn't bother turning on the lights a she made her way out of the elevator and into the as of yet unoccupied observation room. The bar and the glow from some distant star through the open porthole provided the only light in the room, but she was glad that at least she wouldn't be able to see her reflection this way. She was sure she looked rough.

She reached for the alcohol, not really sure what she was mixing. So long as it was strong, that was all that mattered. She didn't want a hangover – just release. She hoped Mordin could come up with a cure for her tomorrow that didn't involve liver failure or growing a second heart.

For a brief moment she stared at the lurid, almost fluorescent liquid in the glass and wondered if this was really the best way she – Commander Shepard, savior of the Citadel – could come up with to get over a bad breakup.

Yep. It was.

She shot the liquor like a mech gone bad, and immediately reached to pour another glass.

But she never made it that far. Webbed fingers fell lightly onto her wrist - not sharply, but gently, though it was enough to still her hand.

"There are other ways to ease your pain."

The other day, the Commander had thought how much she liked Thane's voice because it was calm and controlled. Now, with her otherworldly concoction already touching the fringes of her nerves, she just thought he sounded like a supercilious ass. Where the Hell did he come off, sneaking around like she was one of his hits, giving his opinion where it wasn't asked? She missed the Alliance sometimes – she could have stopped behavior like that with a word.

Pain. Pah!

"It's not pain," she corrected, green eyes narrowed and voice even. "It's anger – anger I suggest you don't get in the way of." She brushed aside his touch and continued to pour, but was surprised when he neither seemed indignant, nor left.

"You have been very kind in coming to speak with me, Shepard," he acknowledged, standing board-straight with his hands clasped behind his back. "But we have not spoken much about you. I would be... grateful to return the favor."

She lifted an eyebrow sardonically as she poured another liquor into the mix. "I came down here to forget, and talking to you would defeat the purpose." An afterthought consumed her, and she continued, "Besides, I always got the impression you _wanted_ to talk, Krios. I don't." She tossed back another drink, shaking off the burn. Uck. If nuclear waste had a taste, that was probably it!

It seemed to take him half a second to recover from that assertion, or maybe he simply stood downwind and the smell of the reactor fluid she was drinking took his breath away. "Yes," he agreed finally, "but I didn't realize I wanted to talk – at first."

She looked at him over her shoulder, studying him a moment. Truthfully, she knew she was being rude, and she had come to like chatting with the assassin who had turned out to be far more surprising than she would have guessed at first read. Begrudgingly, she nodded at him to join her, the best invitation he would get. "You ask questions, I'll answer," she offered. She figured that was safe. Not like she knew where to start anyway.

The drell moved to the other side of the bar, leaning his elbows on top of it and folding his hands together in that very mature-looking way of his, which made her feel damn silly now that her cheeks were flushed from alcohol. Whatever. Like he'd never done anything stupid before.

"Does this have anything to do with Lieutenant Alenko? Your former crewman," he asked succinctly. When she merely blinked at him in dull surprise, he was forced to explain, "I have learned a great deal about your past simply by taking my meals in the mess hall, Commander."

She grimaced at the implications. "I thought you didn't like the mess hall," she accused bitterly, feeling betrayed by the locale though it was completely without sense.

"I do not. But it affords certain advantages," he conceded. She got the distinct impression he was amused at the level of rampant tongue-wagging on the ship, or maybe he was amused by her annoyance at it. She lashed out before she could catch herself.

"I had no idea assassins were such gossips," she quipped bitingly, but he quickly waved the statement away with a gesture that was almost needlessly elegant, particularly since his verbal sparring opponent was anything but at the moment.

"It was merely efficient," he explained dismissively. "I would have asked EDI, but you ordered her not to answer questions about you. I was forced to look elsewhere." Hmph. Well. At least she knew one intelligent being on this ship was listening to her orders.

He continued. "Vakarian in particular was very vocal against Alenko's behavior. He seemed upset that anyone would question your motives, particularly a friend and teammate." He paused, two sets of eyelids blinking. "I can see why you wanted to be alone afterward."

She could only look at Thane with a new found appreciation of his intuition, but if he thought for a second she was getting emotionally worked up because some rookie biotic with a head for regulations gave her a hard time, he had another thing coming! She needed to set the record straight here.

"Alenko was more than a teammate."

Thane only nodded his head once. "I got the impression the two of you were... close." And at that point, she kind of hated saying anything, especially in that 'just so you don't get the wrong impression' sort of voice she had used. "It must have been very difficult," he intoned.

And because the liquor had made her bolder, meaner, Shepard said exactly what came to mind after that. "You have no idea," she assured him. "I'm not saying your life's been a picnic, but if you have ever died and been brought back, I'll eat my head. You have no idea. You never had to look your ex in the eyes while he asks you where the Hell you've been, and when you tell him he more or less calls you a traitor to your entire species. And half of you agrees with him." She gestured with her glass, and shook her head. "I'm not saying I've got it worse, but we're playing in two different ball parks here, Krios. So cut me some slack."

Though she hadn't spoken with the express intent of making the assassin angry, somewhere in her mind – even steeped with oncoming inebriation – Shepard was unconsciously expecting her companion to get pretty pissed off, and was caught off guard when he remained perfectly civil.

"Agreed. I have never dealt with that particular misfortune."

Shepard snorted at the term. "Misfortune. That's when a ship collides with a bit of space debris and it's nobody's fault. I think there's an entirely different word for what Kaidan did."

There was a brief pause, and then, "If you don't mind my saying so, you didn't seem to be in any emotional distress when you recruited me."

_Oh yeah_, she thought. The pain hadn't been caused by Kaidan's rejection, had it? It was something else. What was it? She was really starting to feel the effects of those drinks, but she dredged the memory forward haltingly. "He emailed me," she explained, though it was incomplete. Thane, perhaps in some weird universal guy connection, seemed to guess the rest. Or maybe Kelly really_ did_ read her mail. That bi-

"He took back his words," he quickly summarized.

Shepard blinked. "Wha – no, not exactly." No, that definitely wasn't what he had done. That might have been different. She stood, moving to the port hole and resting her hands along the window sill as she struggled to make sense of things – doubly hard when steadily nearing intoxication. "He almost... put the ball back in my court. Let me make the call."

Thane seemed neither prying nor surprised, but she could feel his black eyes on the back of her head. (Actually, they watched her reflection in the glass, thinking far kinder things about herself than she had.) "Forgive my understanding, Shepard. Do you not wish to invite him back?"

"I..." she began without really knowing how she was going to finish. She _missed_ Kaidan. Her chest ached when she thought about him, about her entire life before she woke up to Miranda's voice on the Lazarus operating table. But whether she missed him and whether she wanted to be with him were two entirely different questions. She let her gaze fall to her hands.

"No," she finally conceded. "I don't." In the midst of her fuzzy semi-intoxication, she found a kind of clarity, and she turned around to face her unlikely friend.

"It's not really about him," she confessed. "He's just the most apparent symptom." She leaned her back against the window behind her, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You know," she began, glancing to the side as a rueful smile pulled at a corner of her mouth. "When other people die, it's okay to grieve. If you survive, even if you lose _everything_, even if you _did_ die and nothing is the same, you're just supposed to be... grateful. Just... happy to be alive." She glared down at her boots for a second. "But it's still the same."

She gestured emphatically as she explained. "When people die, you mourn the life they lost: All the plans they made, all the things they'll miss, all the things you won't be able to share with them." She blinked into the empty room, her expression tight but thoughtful. She continued.

"I survived, but I still lost a life. I'm mourning all the same things," She shook her head. "But the life I'm mourning is mine."

She took a deep breath as she went on. "He's part of it, but he's not all of it. I miss him. I miss... the old Normandy. I miss being a part of the Alliance, and the faith I had in them. I miss," she laughed bitterly, "trusting everyone in my crew. I miss..." She shrugged weakly. "My life." She quirked an eyebrow. "I didn't even think that much of it, at the time."

She stood straighter, taking her weight off the window and letting her arms drop. "But. I've got a new life now." She gestured to the room. "_This_ ship. _This_ crew. This _mission._ And they're important, too." She lifted her eyes to him at last. "It's just not as easy as you might think, moving on from an old life, even if you have a new one waiting for you."

He blinked as if he were the one who had been caught off guard. "I..." he tilted his head, still strangely regal even when illuminated by the back light from a seedy minibar. "Can relate."

She breathed in deeply, and rubbed the back of her neck tentatively. "Thanks, Thane. I – didn't realize I needed to talk."

"I am always here to talk, Shepard," he replied. He approached her as a show of solidarity, but then dipped his chin as he examined her. She thought his large eyes gave nothing away but saw everything. "You are very tired," he noted.

"Yeah," she agreed, "just not sure I trust myself to sleep."

His eyebrow ridges rose and he looked down at the floor for a moment. "Do you trust me, Commander?"

Though she had made a very lucid realization moments before, the ex-Spectre wasn't sober enough yet to be diplomatic. "Uh," she began, eying him warily. "Some days."

He smiled graciously at her response. "I believe I can help with your sleeping problem," he offered.

Oh! Well that was better than she expected. "Lay it on me," she encouraged.

Wait... was he smirking? Oh she didn't trust that smirk. What was he – ? Oh dear.

She felt a brief touch of drell hands to her skin, the quick pop of a pressure point, and then everything went black.


	3. I'd Give Up Forever To Touch You

It was surprising how light the woman was, considering her deeds. Not dainty or slight like an Asari maiden – she would probably be offended by the thought – but surprisingly feminine. The mythos surrounding the Commander was easy to believe. She was unstoppable, strong, and he had even seen her perform feats requiring the steepest physicality, had seen her hardened by battle. Now, though, as he carried her to her chambers, her body was perfectly relaxed, no strain in her face or person. She only looked soft. He had expected to lift the woman and feel the weight of everything she had accomplished like a statue in his arms, but he only found flesh and bone.

She had a pleasing form, he decided. It might not have been strictly fashionable, but it was far more reasonable: her waist was not flat and girlish but trim and strong, her legs were long and looked like they would be dangerous in a fight, and her shoulders and arms were slim but toned and ready for anything. She looked natural, but honed.

Yes, pleasing. It was that word in particular that came to him, over all the other words that had ever been invented to describe a woman's body. It wasn't a hasty, blood-warming lust, or an awed aesthetic appeal that he felt when he looked at her. He simply found himself surprised - pleasantly so.

She snored lightly against his chest, where her face had come to rest. It was the sound of a lightning bug buzzing around an evening campfire, light and unobtrusive. He found his lips turning unconsciously up into an amused smirk, which quickly faded as if he felt it had no right to be there. He carefully repositioned her knees into the crook of his elbow, so that his hand was free to call the elevator.

"EDI," he said in his deep baritone. The AI globe appeared immediately, and out of habit he looked at 'her' though her true eyes were hidden elsewhere. "Will you please unlock the captain's quarters?" He didn't bother explaining why, since that was perfectly obvious.

"Of course," she agreed readily, and then disappeared from view. The Commander gave a snort and repositioned herself so that her nose was no longer blocked, stopping the snore. This time, the assassin's face remained impassive.

He stepped into the elevator, and waited as it rose to the top floor of the ship. Though he had been sure to his purpose when he had knocked the Commander out, he now felt oddly nervous about stepping into her apartment. It wasn't the retribution he would face, though it could be fearsome. He was not so afraid of his employer as he probably should have been, but then, he feared hardly anything anymore. Still, he couldn't shake a touch of nervousness about being within her most intimate setting, without having been invited.

He blinked at his surroundings as he passed through the (purposeless) hallway outside and into the room proper. Fish swam slowly in the tank along one wall, a post-it note from the Yeoman declaring that she had fed them – again. The large collection of ship models broke up the space between the office and the bedroom area, and he wondered briefly if they were tactical or aesthetic. Her desk looked unorganized, dossiers spread haphazardly across the surface and her private terminal still blinking expectantly from where she had left it open. She seemed to have her own system of classification. His own dossier was open on top and, next to it, there was a picture of a human male.

His head tilted subtly to the side as he eyed the photo, curious. There was very little sentimentality in the office: no certificate of completing flight training, no letters from home, no nicknacks from Earth. But here was this photo. It was off slightly, as if it had been turned away from the viewer at some point and only recently turned back – but not fully. He looked at it, but found he was unable to fathom the mind of the photo taker from the photo itself. So he forgot it.

He took a step further into the room, and at length EDI appeared. "Should I set an alarm?" she asked politely.

"Ye-" he began, but then stopped before he could complete the word. "No," he replied instead, feeling suddenly protective. He didn't think Shepard would approve of the sentiment, as independent as she was, but she was not conscious now. A little extra sleep would serve her well. "No," he repeated with added conviction, "let her sleep, if you will."

"As you wish," the computer agreed.

"My thanks," he replied, setting his knee upon the bed and reaching gingerly to place the Commander's legs next to him. He used the free hand to cradle Shepard's head as he lowered her the rest of the way to the bed, carefully, carefully, lest he wake her again.

"Is that all?" the AI asked as Thane carefully arranged his captain's limbs in what looked like it might be comfortable, to a human.

"Yes, EDI."

"Logging you out."

The AI disappeared, and Thane stood, looking down at his commander with a satisfied expression. He had done something good for her, and knew it, but there was still an odd knot in his stomach for her. Quite suddenly, a memory took him.

_Small hands on the blanket. He turns, pulls the covers around him. His breathing is quick, smooth. His eyes flutter with a dream. I cannot take my eyes off of him. I wonder what he sees when he dreams. I find myself praying to Arashu._

He opened his eyes slowly. With deference, he lowered his head and pressed his palms together. "Arashu, Mother of Life. Grant us protection. Defend my charges when I cannot. And should my guard falter, watch over them in my stead."

The mess was always busiest in the morning. Everyone awoke around the same time, to preserve the feel of daytime rhythms even while they were in space, and it seemed that breakfast was a cross-species cultural phenomenon whether or not one was required to eat. Some were ravenous for food, others for company.

"Alright, alright, hold your horses," Gardner told an unruly Donnelly, who was teasing about the wait for food after the first round had run out. Conversation buzzed between Chakwas and Chambers one table over. Joker and a crewman from the bridge discussed a sports game the two had listened to the night before. For his own part, Thane watched silently, his breakfast half-eaten before him.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder as someone moved behind him. "Mind if I sit here?" Shepard asked, looking refreshed. He was surprised, though, to see her up so early at all, and could only blink for half a moment.

"Of course not," he eventually replied, motioning to the seat. She claimed it. At first, he thought she might wish to speak to him about the night before, but instead she turned her attention to her pilot, one red eyebrow lifting on her forehead.

"Joker, please tell me you didn't use our comm resources to beam a football game from Earth," she chastised.

"Uhhhh, of _course_ not?" he responded, dripping with sarcasm. "EDI did?" He may as well have finished, 'duh.'

Shepard rolled her eyes, meaning her admonishment even less than Joker meant to be a jerk in response. Smirking back at her, the pilot only turned cockily back to his mate, rolling his eyes and making a dismissive gesture. The pilot and his Captain had an odd friendship.

She returned her attention to the drell at her side. "What are you having?" she asked, glancing at plates around the table to see what was on the menu this morning.

"Juju jelly salad," he responded, inwardly amused at the idea of Shepard eating anything that he would like. They were not so different physically, but their worlds were vastly different, and their cultures not so intertwined that they had begun to appreciate each other's food yet. Gardner had a difficult time finding recipes that appealed to drell , but he was very patient and Thane was very forgiving. Shepard, he believed, had no reason to be so tolerant of his tastes.

As predicted, she scrunched her nose in distaste, returning her gaze to him to see if he was serious. "I think I'll stick to good ol' fashioned sausage and hashbrowns." He tilted his head in acceptance of her wishes, and as if she had spoken them to heaven itself a plate suddenly appeared, carried by the dutiful cook. She had made quite an impression on him. Well, she had on all the crew, it seemed.

Krios was struck by how well she looked this morning. He hadn't realized she had been wearing her troubles on her features. He only saw the difference now, that the weight seemed gone. She walked with purpose. She spoke with authority, but not authoritarian. And she seemed all around _ready_. He lifted his elbows to the table.

"You seem well this morning, Shepard."

She looked up to him as she moved her food in that way humans have before eating it. Some sort of arrangement procession. He didn't quite understand it. "I feel well," she told him, her eyes meeting his. "Thanks for noticing."

In this brief exchange, without saying more, everything passed between them. She had slept well. She was grateful for his help the evening before. She would not kill him in his sleep for interfering. And he was glad to see it. She returned her eyes to her plate, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to Arashu.

"How close are we to Pragia?" she asked, again directing her attention to Joker.

He seemed to pick up that he was being spoken to, despite pretending to ignore the Commander. "About an hour out, give or take. That is, an hour _after_ breakfast."

She shook her short-cropped head. "Naturally," she responded dryly, before digging into her breakfast.

A sudden need seized him. Before he had even thought it through, the request escaped his lips. "Might I be among the shore party?" he asked, surprising even himself. He felt the need to explain it, and continued a little less confidently. "I... could use exercise," he replied, gesturing with his hands before him.

"Keeping active would do well for you, Thane," Chakwas threw into the conversation, as if she had been keeping idle watch over the drell, the way she kept an eye on Joker.

A look of realization passed subtly across Shepard's face as she looked between the doctor and the drell, and for a moment Krios felt terrible for giving her the wrong impression. He didn't _need_ to come along. He _wanted_ to. But it seemed unnecessary to explain. She nodded.

"Of course. We'll be well balanced. Jack's biotics, my bullets, and that... frufru hand to hand thing you do." She gestured at him dismissively, and lifted her drink to her mouth with the other hand. The tease was only present in the light of her eyes, and the curl in the corners of his mouth. He inclined his head, grateful for the recognition of his 'frufru hand to hand skills.'

The jungle planet was lush, overgrown, and felt oddly dangerous. His instincts were heightened as soon as he arrived, and he was certain in a way he could not explain that this place had a history, however brief, that had altered many lives. Jack was simply living proof.

He didn't particularly like the way she rushed around, full of anger and letting that anger control her. But then, there was nothing more hypocritical for him to feel. He had been just as controlled by his own anger after Irikah died. The only difference between the two of them was that he was far more precise in his execution. She aimed wildly and hoped that wherever her bullet landed, it eased her pain. He chose his targets delicately, and executed them slowly. In motive, though, they were one.

He didn't like her on the team, but that was not his call to make. And Shepard, in spite of a personality that seemed, at first, to be completely unforgiving and callous, saw something in the convict that he didn't. When the biotic complained, she shot her down. When Jack asked too much, she denied her. But when it came time to place her faith in the girl, she did so without hesitation. Jack seemed determined to test the bounds of that faith, but as this mission proved Shepard was not to be shaken off so easily. Whatever she saw in the younger woman, she refused to give up on it.

Only time would tell if that blind loyalty would pay off, or come back to bite Shepard in the ass.

They moved carefully into the facility, each doorway revealing some new atrocity. Thane was in honest shock at the way children had been treated there. He could think only of his Kolyat, of the lengths he would go to in order to protect his son from something like this. Then his thoughts shifted to Mouse and he realized that not everyone had that sort of protection.

Though he supposed, in practice neither had Kolyat after the death of his wife – a disheartening realization.

Shepard said shockingly little about the facility, though he and Jack said enough to fill the silence. She seemed disturbingly unsurprised. A niggling curiosity ate at his consciousness. What sort of childhood had the woman had, that she didn't even express horror at the idea of children being frozen to death in the name of scientific research? Perhaps, he didn't wish to know.

And perhaps, she was only staying focused on her mission. Hers, not Jack's. Jack was here for closure. Shepard was here to see her team get out alive. It c laimed her entire attention.

She seemed to come alive again only when they stumbled on the fresh kill. She reloaded her weapon perfunctorily, scanning the area around them. "Careful," she warned. Thane imagined this was more for Jack, who rushed forward with the promise of battle.

For the rest of the mission, Shepard was on edge. He could see it in the way she moved, the way she spoke. And when they found the gang inside, well. She had good reason to be. She was the first to dash to cover, the first to get shots off. Always the leader, always the best prepared. As she ducked behind a wall to reload, she quickly turned her head to check the location of her two teammates.

Jack was in a frenzy, maddened. The emotional tumult of coming back to this place was wearing on her and she was ready to take it out on someone. When a bullet grazed through her damaged shield and across her flesh, she could control herself no longer. She stood, her biotics raging hot against her tattooed skin, purple-white lightning coursing across black marks no one understood but her.

"Jack!" Shepard called, frantic but still wielding control. The biotic barely heard her. Without control of her squad, she could do little but provide cover fire, so she popped up from her cover and tried to get a clear shot at the sniper aiming for Jack. She couldn't from her vantage. She turned her gaze to the only other sane person left.

"Thane! Sniper, three o'clock!"

He nodded once at her command, and quickly rose from cover.

He escaped into a zone when he looked through the scope of his sniper rifle. The world faded and his consciousness became defined by crosshairs in a round viewport. He heard the sound of his breath. He felt the weight of his gun. Little else registered. He aimed a brief shot, breathing steadily, his hands forever cool and calm. He squeezed lightly, as if handling an egg, and the sniper's head shook violently. He ducked for cover.

But he didn't make it. He heard the rocket whistling his way too late, and was only half protected. The concussive shot hit dead on. The world shook. He tried to think, but it was impossible. All he could hear was the distorting, echoing sound of his own heartbeat. Very odd. Wasn't that supposed to stop sometime soon?

He felt what he recognized as a shoulder in his ribs, toppling him over. The blood rushed back into his brain and he shook his head, looking up at the sight of Shepard scuttling the rest of the way behind the barrier she had thrown him behind. She was uttering something he was pretty sure was considered lewd in most languages. She placed her hand on his chest and lifted herself, his body nothing more than a prop for now, and then she aimed across the barrier that had once been _his_ cover.

She had no shields, he registered as the concussive shot's affects began to wear off. They must have been depleted as she ran through open fire to get to him. A shot from some distant enemy pinged off her armor, leaving a dent, and she jumped back from her corner, cursing. "Shit!" she cried, flinging her arm to stop the pain. She immediately aimed back in that direction, and the sound of gunfire rang out.

One fell.

She was back behind the cover again, eying him through her visor as she loaded another thermal clip into her weapon. "Thane!" she said again, still in that commanding tone. "Breathe!"

He blinked. The concussive shot would have knocked his breath away. With Kepral's syndrome, catching one's breath was easier said than done. He forced himself to breath deeper, more frequently. Even in his half-aware state it sounded raspy and terrible. Ugh. But his wits returned to him. He sat up halfway. The firefight was still going on, but it seemed there were fewer participants than before.

He caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. Over Shepard's left shoulder, in a blind spot, the flash of a painted helmet appeared. Adrenaline saw his faculties restored to him immediately. He grabbed his gun, aimed one-handed past Shepard's visor, who cursed him rabidly until the shot went off and someone cried out in fear as they fell from the rafters overhead.

Her look was disbelieving. "Nice shot." But he only had the breath to nod.

They came out from cover like roaches from a nuclear blast, slow and cautious – and aching. Thane placed his hands on his knees, recovering his breath still, but as soon as she knew the coast was clear Shepard was moving quickly. Jack didn't see her coming.

"What the Hell is your problem?" she asked, pushing hard against the woman's chest.

"Back off!" Jack replied, stepping back up to the Commander.

"Were you _trying_ to get us all killed back there?" Shepard continued, her temper not yet under her control.

"Just doing my job, _Boss Lady_," the convict responded sarcastically.

"Bullshit! Your job is to be a part of my _team_. As a part of my _team_, I risked my life – I risked _his_ life," she pointed her assault rifle in Thane's direction, who had stopped gasping long enough to watch the fireworks, "to give _you_ some closure. Not that I had to! You were bound to work for me either way. But I did it because you're a part of my _team._ So act like it. Because the next time you pull some selfish shit like that," she pointed to the place where Jack had been when she went nuts, "I'll shoot you myself. Are we clear?"

Jack glared defiantly into the Commander's face, her face showing nothing. "Crystal," she finally responded.

Shepard glared at her teammate a moment longer, before finally leaning to lift something from the corpse of one of the gang bangers. She pushed the still-functioning shield-module into Jack's stomach, hard, and pushed past her shoulder.

Thane couldn't describe the expression that passed over Jack's face as she stared down into the equipment Shepard had forced into her hands. It was somewhere between sadness, regret, and a lightness reaching her eyes, like he was watching a weight lifting from her shoulders. She glanced up, belatedly, to find him watching and immediately the expression was replaced with the cold hardness he had always seen on her features.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

She turned to join the Commander.

And for the first time, Thane realized that Subject Zero was actually very beautiful, underneath the glare.

_The light shines off her deep red armor, clashes with the lock of auburn hair that's fallen into her visor. Her voice indistinct as she shouts at me. The smell of thermal clips burning on the air. Emerald eyes, wide and concerned through the glass. She pushes off my chest, and I reach for her hand before realizing that it's gone. She fires, strong, immovable, protective._

Beautiful - but not quite pleasing.


	4. Amonkira Be Praised

Things were getting back to normal. And by normal, she meant that the galaxy was in complete turmoil, everyone and their mother needed her help, and she had to juggle the demands of her crew with the greater mission of saving said fucked up galaxy. Not that she was complaining. She could, she realized. Any other person might. Having the fate of the known world on your shoulders and the lives of an entire ship to look after could be tough work.

Better that than managing her own life, she figured!

But her own life had settled down, too. She had got over the shock of things, finally. It had taken longer than expected, largely, she imagined, because instead of dealing with that first she had to deal with the Collectors. If it hadn't been for Kaidan on Horizon, actually, she might never have seen to her grief. She was learning to get over it now. She hated what things had become less and less, and accepted what she had with better grace.

Sometimes, she even found herself enjoying it

"Approaching Illium, Commander," Joker announced through the bridge. Shepard nodded once, turning to make her way to the ramp. She was silently exhilarated to be helping Miranda with her sister. Not for the selfless reason – she wished she could say it was – but because it would give her the opportunity to do what she did best, in Garrus's words. There was nothing to 'figure out' about battle.

She found Miranda and Thane already waiting for her, their matching leather suits clashing terribly with her hardsuit. She smirked with unsaid teases as she put her helmet on. Let them risk their heads if they wanted. The Marine in her wouldn't go into battle without something covering her noggin.

"Let's get your sister back, shall we?" she suggested. Miranda nodded. Thane followed obediently.

If it had been a vid, a badass themesong would have started playing as soon as her booted foot touched on Illium's stardock. It's how she felt. Personal problems faded away and everything fell into a familiar rhythm. She waved off the concierge and weaved through the crowds towards their destination, paying only minimal attention to the people she passed and instead listening to EDI's useful advice over the radio.

Maybe this was what Thane referred to as his battle-sleep. For her, it was less like sleep and more like the only time she felt truly in control, even though it was probably when she was most _out of _control. She reacted on instinct - honed, ingrained instinct. But as for everything outside of the fight? Completely forgotten. So maybe it was like sleep.

Or maybe it was more like sex. Because, bless her, she really enjoyed fighting. Not killing, in particular, but victory. Sadly, most of the time victory did involve some loss of life, and for this, she figured, she was probably going to Hell. But at least she stayed true to who she was. She was a fighter, a soldier. It was a lot easier than pretending to be something she wasn't.

"One to go," she announced as the current wave of Eclipse mercenaries began to dwindle. She lined up her assault rifle, secretly reveling in the satisfaction of putting the last bullets into a difficult target, and with a light squeeze sent a barrage of gunmetal her opponent's way.

But the final shot came from behind her, split the vanguard's helmet open right between the eyes, sending the body careening backwards.

"Clean shot," came the drell assassin's calm voice. Behind her helmet, she narrowed her eyes at him. The corner of his mouth pulled subtly back into a smirk.

Things were growing into a kind of rhythm with her teammates. It took some getting used to, fighting alongside people she barely knew, but the more they did the easier it got. Miranda was still a little too forward for her tastes. The 'second in command' business had got them into trouble in a fight or two since they started. Thane was easier to get along with. He watched the battle, found his place in it, and executed it perfectly. She had no reason to complain.

And she was starting to find, he was fun, too. Perhaps not intentionally. He came out of his shell more and more the longer he remained on the Normandy, particularly the more they talked. She could no longer imagine a squad without him in it, like Garrus and, before the death of the Normandy, even Wrex. She wouldn't wish to take on the Collectors without him now, which was a lot to be said for someone as self-sufficient as she was. He fit in with her nicely, and she was glad to let herself be absorbed into the easy battle dance they had arranged for themselves.

Particularly since their conversations always got rather heavy. She thought back to the one the evening before.

_He looked at her across the table, obviously trying to piece together the words to say what he was thinking. She lifted an eyebrow. "That serious, huh?" she asked. It seemed to shake him out of his self-possession._

"_Forgive me," he intoned, "this is not easy to ask." A frown line creased her forehead as she waited for him, wondering what could possibly be so hard to talk to his leader about. They were not so close yet that he should be afraid of her bad opinion, after all. And unless he was asking something very bad, her opinion wouldn't change anyway. He was capable, and had been a surprisingly valuable comrade since coming on board the Normandy. Nothing he could ask would change that._

_He continued, "I noticed on Pragia that you were not shaken by the things we saw. I was... curious." _

_He surprised her again, and her brows lifted, erasing the frown line. This was about her? She shook her head softly. "I'm not following."_

_He looked down at his folded hands and back up at her. "You forbid anyone looking into your official history, but the extranet has many stories about you. Your childhood was difficult."_

_Wow. Unexpected. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, eyes widening briefly in wonderment at his ballsiness. But, she knew about his childhood. Why couldn't she be as open with her own? "You certainly know how to cut straight to the point, Krios," she gave him, saving face. She met his gaze and gestured, palm up. "What can I help you with?"_

"_Is it true?" he asked, inspecting her with those oddly wise eyes. "Did your parents abandon you?"_

_She tugged at her ear, and then answered. "Not exactly," she responded. "My father was never really around in the first place. I don't think that really counts as abandonment. More like nonexistence. My mother, on the other hand, stuck around until I was nine. She sent me out for pizza with money – shoulda known then, because she never gave me money for anything – and when I got back she was gone." She shrugged, as if it was nothing. "Never heard from her again."_

_His expression changed. It was as if his curiosity thus far hadn't really been about her, but somehow distant and clinical. Now, having heard the story, he seemed personally affected, and she was sure there was something like pity in the way he looked at her. She didn't need that. "What does this pertain to?" she asked pointedly._

_His face immediately popped back into a more professional mask. "Merely to my understanding of humanity, and of you," he replied evasively. "Tell me," he continued, lifting his hands and steepling his forearms on his elbows. "Would you forgive your mother, if she asked you to?"_

_Her brows knitted together. That was a good question. She hadn't thought about her mother in years, and had long ago accepted that there were circumstances she would never understand surrounding her childhood. So she had stopped trying. She wasn't sure she could ever accept any excuse for what her mother had done, and because of that she couldn't fathom forgiving her._

"_No," she replied succinctly, truthfully. "But I might be willing to get to know her anyway. I might even come to love her. But I could never forgive her. Things like that, you can't erase. You can only move past them."_

_He stared at her a long moment, and she could almost hear the hungry rumble of his mind digesting her words. "I see," he responded. "I apologize if my questions seemed forward, Commander."_

"_Not at all," she dismissed. Talking about this hadn't been as hard as she had at first imagined, and though she felt oddly vulnerable – people weren't generally bold enough to comment on her past to her face – she didn't mind having shared with Thane. She had a feeling there was more to it than he said, though, and she couldn't stop herself saying, "I'm a little curious what brought all this on, though."_

_He thought for half a second, hesitating briefly. "I don't think now is the time," he explained._

_She could only nod. "When you're ready, then."_

_He nodded his head deeply in gratitude._

Not that she minded tackling the heavy stuff with her teammates. Goodness knows she was doing plenty of that. But something about the way she talked with Thane was starting to make alarm bells go off in her head. This was better, she decided as they both ran out of the elevator at the exact same pace. They were teammates. See? They worked well side by side. This was their connection, and the other stuff – the talks – were just the side effects of what happened on the battlefield.

Because this was where she fit in, here, in the line of fire. Everyone said she was a good leader, but she had never felt naturally skilled in that arena. It took work, and lots of it. It took a level of diplomacy that she really didn't feel at her heart. The only part that came naturally to her was looking out for the people who looked out for her. If she had learned no other lesson from her mother, she had learned that one. You stuck by the people who stuck by you.

But here, with a gun in her hand, that was the good stuff. She knew this inside and out. She had guts. She had brains. She could survive anything, even being spaced. And out here, she didn't have to try so hard. She could just _be._

So here, no alarm bells went off when Thane slid into the spot next to her under cover, his weight heavy against her shoulder. Here, she knew it was only the fight when she pushed off his thigh to get back up and into firing position. Here, it was not at all shocking if he pulled a thermal clip off her belt without asking. It was only natural. They were teammates.

They were down to one, after whittling away the Eclipse defenses in a raging fight. "My shot," he announced as he reloaded his weapon, as if he believed that just because there was only one, it must be left up to the sniper to take advantage. She almost went with it, content to let him do 'his job,' but as she watched him take aim a dastardly grin stole across her features.

She popped out from cover, actually used her scope this time (rare thing), and leveled her assault rifle while she imagined he was still trying to line up the perfect shot. Six bullets peppered the remaining mercenary in various places. Lifting his head, the drell turned to raise an eye ridge at her.

She wasn't disciplined enough to keep the cockiness from registering in every facet of her body language. "Amonkira be praised," she said dryly, pulling her rifle back to her.

To her surprise, he chuckled at her blasphemy.


	5. The Battle With the Heart

She could feel Miranda's eyes on her the rest of the walk back to the Normandy.

She hung back, like she was deliberately giving the Commander space to observe. It made the subject of that inspection feel like she was being spied on, and she had to shake the feeling off, agitated behind her helmet. It was like having a niggling reminder in the back of her mind of something she had to do later, and it made her hyper-aware of herself. She didn't like it.

Distracted as she was by one teammate acting oddly, the other seemed completely at ease after the battle – refreshed in some way, like she was. When he came to a sudden stop near the starport, their shoulders bumped. She hadn't even noticed they had been walking so closely together as they made their way through the crowds. Glad for the opportunity to get her mind off of being stared at, Shepard spared Miranda only a quick glance before turning her attention fully to the drell beside her.

He was looking out across the cityscape of Ilium, the absurdly tall buildings looking even more impressive from the balcony far away than they did when standing at the foot. Had she really raced the assassin up the length of one of those buildings, shooting through waves of mercs all the way? Damn, she really was a badass. She leaned forward on the balcony, letting her hands rest idly across open space, while the rest of her merely relaxed.

She wasn't sure whether Thane was really speaking to her, or simply speaking, but he began to talk once she relaxed against the bannister. "I spent the last two years here," he said, quietly enough that passing merchants – or Miranda, if she was listening – wouldn't be able to hear every word. "I had a purpose, a goal. Now that I've accomplished it, something occurs to me. In all that time, I never once looked at the horizon. It is... spectacular."

Shepard blinked at her companion, then turned her eyes at the horizon, trying to see what he saw. Maybe she had become a pessimist – maybe she had always been one – but she wasn't sure that she saw beauty in the Ilium skyline. But he hadn't exactly called it beautiful, she supposed, and she was learning that Thane was always very precise in his choice of words. He had called it spectacular. It was certainly that, a spectacle, though whether it was one of beauty or monstrosity she didn't want to hazard a guess. Mostly because then she would be forced to admit she was a pessimist.

"It's something alright," she agreed, standing straight again, hands still on the guardrail. When she glanced over again she was surprised to find he was no longer looking at the skyline, but was instead watching her. She jerked her head to signal that they move off, and turned back towards the star dock.

That niggling annoyance in the back of her head told her Miranda was staring at her helmet, and she frowned so savagely that the Concierge didn't even bother approaching.

Back on the Normandy, the group went their separate directions.

"I will be in Life Support if you need me," Thane said easily, walking towards the elevator with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Miranda walked a wide circle around the captain, eying her the whole way. Her eyebrow was raised speculatively. "Shepard," she said simply. Crossing her arms across her chest suspiciously, 'Shepard' watched the woman go with a look that would have poisoned a lesser person.

She didn't know what was going on here, but she intended to find out. Just as soon as she got out of this armor and took a quick shower. Marine hardsuits were great at protection, not so great at breathe-ability.

She arrived at her cabin, silently thanking whatever gods existed that she had her own bathroom, until an idea came to her. Surely Miranda was also grabbing a quick shower after their escapades. Quickly deciding, she grabbed a change of clothes and headed down to the Crew's Quarters herself.

She was correct. One of the showers was already running. Miranda peeked out over the top of the barrier that came up whenever anyone engaged the showers, reminding Shepard how tall the woman was. Oh right. She forgot Miranda was, like, engineered to be perfect. Why had she decided to bruise her own ego this way again?

"Shepard," she greeted, obviously surprised.

"Miranda," her Commander responded back, slipping out of the under-clothing she wore beneath her armor.

"Shower broken?" the other woman asked, in a tone that said she knew it wasn't.

Shepard shrugged. "Thought I'd slum it with the crew today. Private shower seems a little extravagant, considering what we're up against."

Miranda only turned back to what she was doing, dismissing the captain's concern. "Maybe for a Marine cruiser. But this is a Cerberus ship. We're not bound by Alliance regulations." She glanced over her shoulder at the Commander, who was distracted by working the controls on her own shower. "Not _any_ of them," she added, almost under her breath.

Shepard stopped fiddling with the controls on her shower – why were they different than in her cabin? - and glanced halfway over her shoulder, her brows knitting. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, a little annoyed at Miranda's continued secrecy. Then the jets came on belatedly in her shower and shot her dead in the face. She scrambled to turn the pressure down.

Miranda shrugged this time. "Just that things are very different on a civilian vessel. You seem to be stuck in a military mindset, when there's no reason to be." She paused, maybe gauging her odds of survival if she continued. But, cocky as she was, she decided to go on anyway. "Maybe you've been working with the Alliance too long, Commander."

Completely distracted from actually showering, Shepard had barely even managed to get started. She glared at the wall in front of her. "Are you saying I'm not adaptable, Lawson?" she asked, offended at the very idea. She had _risen from the dead_. How much more adaptable could you be?

"Not at all, Shepard," the brunette quickly corrected. "I was talking about personal matters."

Shepard blinked at her distorted reflection in the metal showerhead, wondering when it had become commonplace to comment on a superior officer's personal matters. Since the Normandy had become a _civilian vessel_ she supposed. Man, there were certain advantages to military life she really missed.

"Like showering?" she corrected the woman. But her authority only extended so far here, and Miranda was quick to remind her of that.

"Among other things," she responded in her melodic, perfectly engineered voice. Shepard growled silently to herself.

"You and Krios work well together," the brunette continued, almost without pause. Believing the two statements somehow related, Shepard turned on her teammate wildly. She stared at the back of Miranda's head with complete shock at her audacity.

Catching the look out of the corner of her eye, Miranda merely blinked innocently over her shoulder at the other woman. "I was talking about combat, Shepard," she responded, before turning back to her shower. "You two have developed a way of fighting together. It's really quite remarkable, considering he's been working alone for years."

Shepard turned too, putting her heart back into place. "I guess I'm not the only one who's adaptable," she granted. For whatever reason she felt she ought to defend Thane from Miranda's judgment, which was silly considering the woman was paying him a compliment.

"He's certainly that," Miranda agreed. "I thought he would be harder to integrate into the crew, but he really seems to have made an effort." There was half a moment's pause. "Particularly with you."

The Commander was forcibly reminded of the first time she met Miranda, and said so. "You thought I would be hard to integrate, too. I guess even perfect people aren't always right."

"I _am_ still human, Shepard," Miranda reminded her. "And so are you. Well, most of you, anyway."

Her brows quirked together. "That's reassuring. I guess I never really asked what you guys did at Lazarus."

Miranda huffed in amusement as she left her shower, wrapping a towel around her as she went. "Nothing that would impair your _functionality_ Shepard. You still work more or less the same way as you did before."

Shepard's quirked eyebrows turned into a lifted pair as her scrubbing paused. Her confused expression reflected off the fogged wall before her. "I'm just a little wary as to how this relates to our conversation about adaptability."

Miranda continued as she smeared something that smelled fruity across her perfect complexion. "Sooner or later you're going to want to move on from Alenko and when the time comes I don't want you to worry about whether everything still works the same as it did before."

"Oh my _God_." The Commander's traumatized voice rebounded off the shower walls. "We're having the _sex talk._"

Miranda continued unfazed. v"We did a full panel of testing on Lazarus. Everything was perfectly normal."

"You _tested_ my - oh, that is - just - _h__ow? - "_

"We're very thorough, Shepard."

" - You know what? On second thought, don't tell me."

"Of course, you'll want to be sure and stay lubricated. You _have_ been out of practice."

Shepard stared front and center, head shaking in disbelief while Miranda continued her one-sided encouragement. "I never understood why people complained about this conversation so much," she said to no one. "Now I do. Now I understand."

"At least you won't have any worries about contraceptives with a member of another species."

Suddenly, it all clicked. "Mir_an_da!" she said, exasperated, and sounding not very different from the way a teenaged Shepard may have sounded had she been forced to endure this awkward travesty on a more typical timeline. "There is nothing going on between me and Thane. He's dying. I just broke up with my boyfriend. We're not sleeping together. Okay?"

"Of course, Shepard." The commander breathed a sigh of relief at the conciliatory tone from her second in command, but that didn't last. "But if you change your mind."

She shut off her shower. She had to get _out_ of here. She was never showering with the rest of the crew again! She barely even bothered drying off except to catch the largest droplets and hurriedly dressed herself in the Cerberus-provided uniform. She double checked that Miranda was decent before pushing her way out into the lovely, free air of the ship beyond. But then she made the mistake of looking up from her determined walk.

And stopped abruptly. Across the hallway, at almost the same moment she exited, the subject of their conversation emerged from the men's restroom clad only in a towel, and that only held aloft by a hand. His skin had been darkened by the water from his shower, and looked much softer than she might have imagined – not that she'd been imagining, because she hadn't. His scales glistened when his muscles moved underneath, and she swallowed. She didn't even notice she was staring, until Miranda bumped into her.

She snapped back to reality, stepped aside for Miranda, and chanced a glance back at Thane to find he had disappeared into Life Support. Apparently _not_ before being noticed by her company, however. "Right," the brunette said beneath her breath, tossing her damp hair over her shoulder. "Nothing going on there at all."

Shepard tried to come up with something to say, opened her mouth twice to respond, but nothing even remotely cutting enough came to her before the opportunity was lost. She sighed, just as annoyed now as she was before she had come down here to talk, and worse because now Miranda thought she had the hots for Thane.

Which she _didn't._

Dammit.


	6. Isn't Easily Won

She was fairly sure that Miranda was wrong, though she had to admit she couldn't say why she thought so. She idly paced her quarters as she mulled it over, tossing and turning the idea in her head. It just wasn't like that.

The woman was right about the connection. There was a connection. She felt for Thane – what he was facing, what he had faced. She thought his spiritual way of dealing with the world was strangely beautiful, even though she had never believed in anything but herself before. And she loved fighting alongside him. Despite very different styles and both of them being very singular in their pursuit of enemies, it just worked. She couldn't deny any of those things.

But there was a long, long way to go from a connection to a romance. She wasn't about to rush into anything. She wasn't _looking_ for that. She felt for Thane what she felt for any of the rest of her crew, gratitude to have him on board and a keen sense of growing friendship. Maybe even trust. But not completely – not yet. Possibly, not ever.

Her eyes lit on the picture of Kaidan she still had in her room. It was off-kilter, from the last time she had slammed it down angrily she imagined. She reached for it and picked it up. For a moment, she only looked at it, surprisingly numb to the vision. She traced his face with her eyes the way she used to do in person, the strong curve of his jaw, his super straight nose, his chiseled cheekbones, and soft brow. He always had great lips, and she smirked thinking about them. But the smile quickly faded. She felt nothing beyond that.

She turned the frame over, prying the little clips in the back upwards and carefully removing the photo. She looked at it a moment longer, but when the effect was the same she reached for the drawer where she kept the Cerberus dossiers she had been given. She let the photo drop into an empty hanging folder and closed the drawer back. She set the empty frame back onto her desk but, hating the sight of the empty frame, eventually turned it over on its face.

And then she sat in silence, thinking of nothing. Because she was actually enjoying the quiet within and without her, she was taken completely by surprise when the doors to her office opened and the Yeoman wandered in, looking altogether too chipper for anyone's good.

"Commander!" she greeted, equally surprised. "I'm sorry! I thought you were on the Crew Deck!"

Shepard pursed her lips and shook her head, not even bothering to pretend she had been doing something useful. "Nope," she stated flatly.

"Oh," Chambers replied, blinking at her captain and looking at a loss for words. Rare sight, Shepard thought. Kelly thought it was just as rare to see the Commander willingly spending time on her own. Her brown eyes drifted to the fish tanks. "Did you remember to feed your fish?" she asked tentatively, gesturing to the long wall.

Shepard blinked. You know, considering she was actually up here, one would think she might remember to take care of the tiny little creatures who depended on her for survival. But she hadn't. She looked at the fish tank blankly and uttered another, equally flat, "Nope."

Kelly eyed the Commander up and down and then moved over to the tank. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to doing it now anyway," she assured her captain, who had no intention of getting up right that second anyway. Shepard returned her eyes to the desk around her, wondering if there was anything to give away where her thoughts had been. Unfortunately, her company turned around to see the direction of her thoughts, and also the overturned photo frame.

"You know, if you don't like the picture you have you should put another one in it," she offered helpfully. There was probably some psychological reason behind it that Shepard didn't care to hear.

"Yep."

"Everything okay, Commander?" the Yeoman then asked, and Shepard took in a breath, finally looking back at her.

"I'm fine, Chambers," she said a little more graciously. Though she disliked the idea of a Cerberus plant reporting the mental status of her crew back to the Illusive Man, she knew that was hardly Kelly's fault. She nevertheless didn't have any intention of using her services.

Chambers tilted her head slightly. "I'm a pretty good listener, Commander, if you need to talk about anything." She shrugged in a cutesy sort of way. "That _is_ part of why I'm here."

Shepard looked at her fellow redhead for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Chambers had this strange ability to care about people, and still not care – to want to help, without letting it affect her personally if she failed. She wished she could have that same nonchalant attitude, the same detachment. She was hot or cold; there was no in between for her. She wasn't sure how to feel about Kelly for the ability. Maybe she loved the way she hoped to be loved, and Kelly's careful detachment made her uneasy. Or maybe Chambers was the one who had it together, and she was the ball of crazy. Who knew?

"Isn't it your job to report back to the Illusive Man about me?"

"Not at all, Commander." She shook her head slowly. "My job is to make sure that everyone on the mission is operating at their best. If that doesn't involve reporting back to the Illusive Man, then I won't."

The commander lifted her chin slightly with realization, inspecting the redhead thoughtfully. She made a snap decision, and then the chin lowered.. "Alright," she said as an invitation. "Give me your best advice on break ups." She crossed her arms expectantly.

"Uh," Kelly began with a quiet laugh. "That's not how it works Commander. Why don't you tell me what's bothering you about the breakup? What are you feeling?"

Shepard let her eyes cast upward in the middle-distance, her brain quickly picking out details. "I don't know. I'm..." She shrugged her shoulders and then shook her head lightly. "I don't want to feel the way I feel about him anymore. I'm just so... hurt. I want to be done with it. Move on." She unfolded her arms and gestured. "At the same time I just... I don't want to rush into things again the way I..."

She paused suddenly, blinking at the words that she had started to say but hadn't finished. _The way I did with him._ "Huh..."

Kelly tilted her head softly. "The way you what, Commander?"

She turned her gaze downward, suddenly bashful about all of the emotional discourse, even though she hadn't said the brunt of it out loud. "I just... figured something out, that's all." She stood up a little straighter. "Thanks, Kelly. That helped a lot."

In that easy, unselfish way she had about her, Chambers simply smiled. Shepard, she would have been trying to ferret out the details, but Kelly was different. She talked to give people an outlet. She cared without expectation. That was a rare gift.

"Anytime, Commander." She turned away with a, "See you downstairs."

"So long. And, uh," Shepard gestured over her shoulder with a thumb. "Thanks for the fish."


	7. But It Can Be Won

When she got the message from Chambers nearly a week later that Thane wanted to speak with her, the Commander winced. Yeah. That.

She had been... busy. Really busy. The Gernsback had needed a lot of paperwork, including more than one email back and forth with the Alliance military and a few fibs about whether she had any involvement in the death of the Captain. "Captain Taylor appears to have been killed by a weapon that was manufactured six years after the Gernsback first went off radar," they said.

"It's a mystery!" she responded.

So, naturally, that had taken up a great deal of her time. And after that, Tali had needed her help. The trip to the Flotilla had been amazing, and she genuinely felt terrible when Thane came to the airlock to see them off.

"I'm fascinated by the Flotilla," he was saying as he escorted Tali to the bridge. "When the drell fled our world, we didn't have mass effect technology. But if we had..." he trailed off, and Tali picked up where he left off.

"Perhaps it is better you did not. The Flotilla has become our way of life, but it will be a very long time before the Quarians can live with solid ground beneath our feet." She turned her helmet towards the Commander, who was standing ready to exit the Normandy with Vakarian at her side. Her body language spoke of surprise.

Shepard glanced between Tali and Thane and finally spoke, apologetically. "I really need Garrus for this one, Thane," she explained, which wasn't entirely true. As Garrus said, she _could_ do it without him... but she didn't think the assassin would take 'style' as a good excuse for missing what was likely to be his only chance to see the inside of a Flotilla ship. She felt sick to her stomach even saying it herself.

"I understand," he replied, ever the gentleman. "I will pray to Arashu for your protection, Tali."

"Thank you, Thane," Tali replied with that steadily polite way she had, except when she was teasing Garrus. Then the three of them turned away and went into one of the most private places in the world.

She made it up to him later. When they were back on the Normandy, she saw to it that the captain of the Rayya gave him a private tour of the ship, along with anyone else who wished to see inside the Flotilla. She hung back, to comfort Tali she said. She was just as curious to see the rest of the ship as Thane was, but she had a duty to uphold – to Tali, she told herself.

And so a week had passed without her ever saying more than a sentence to Thane at any given time. It had flown by. Without their talks to break up the day, she found she returned to the efficient, calculating way she usually handled business. When she wasn't training, researching, or investigating, she was making upgrades to the Normandy, talking to Mordin about their weapons, or discussing the team's readiness with Miranda and Jacob. Her conversations had returned to being strictly professional, with everyone, and when she had nothing else to do, she slept.

So the message, conveyed to her by Chambers, didn't exactly come as a surprise. She _had_ been avoiding him, and she supposed that it was time to pay the piper. Unfortunately, she had no more idea now what she would say to him than she had a week ago, but that was no excuse anymore. She had been called to the table, and to the table she would go.

She was incredibly surprised, then, to find the drell pacing back and forth in Life Support, looking distraught. When the door opened, he went back to his usual place and took a seat. Her eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment she hesitated.

"Shepard?"

Busted. She moved into the room proper, heart pounding. "Is there something wrong?"

"Yes," he responded, his words coming slowly. "Now that you are here, though, it seems... more difficult to talk about."

Her mind immediately jumped to the worst. "Are you feeling sick?" She half turned and gestured to the door, as if she were already halfway through it in spirit. "I could get the doctor."

"No, no," he reassured her, "though I suppose that is a part of it. My mortality has me... dwelling on things." He stood suddenly from his seat and walked purposefully across the room to the shelves where his weapons lay, and he stared at them silently, presumably putting his thoughts together. She watched him with concern, her brows knitting together. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but whatever it was it definitely _wasn't_ what came out of his mouth.

"I had a family once," he began, and he shifted as he continued. "I still have a son. His name is Kolyat. I haven't seen him for a very long time."

She approached him cautiously, standing next to him near his armory. "How long has it been since you talked?" she asked. He turned to look at her.

"Ten years," he confessed. "He showed me some of his school work and asked if we could 'dance crazy.' We did that when he was younger."

She couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice at the childish term. "What sort of dance is that?" she asked.

"It's..." he began, and then he slipped into a memory. "I check my extranet contacts. I expect an update on my next target. The console plays music – old, unfashionable. Kolyat jumps into the room. 'Father!' He runs around in circles. I scoop him up, toss him into the air. He shrieks, laughs. 'Spin me!' The console beeps. I... put him down, click the message. 'Father, please!' He tugs my sleeve. 'I need to read this,' I say. I don't... look at him."

She could read the pain in his features, and her curiosity got the better of her. Her voice was gentle as she asked. "Did something happen to them?"

He made no bones about it. "I abandoned them," he said, and then looked back at his weapons. "No... not all at once. Nothing dramatic. No sneaking out in the middle of the night. No final argument or slammed door." He returned his gaze to her. "I just... did my job. I hunted and killed across the galaxy. 'Away on business,' my wife would tell people. I was always 'away in business.'"

Her eyes narrowed as she inspected him. "You never mentioned this before. Why now?"

"When my wife departed from my body I..." He paused, and blinked forcibly as if it would squeeze out the words he needed to say. "_Attended_ to that issue. I left Kolyat in the care of his aunts and uncles. I have not seen him or talked to him since."

Her brows lifted with an expression of honesty. "That's not the choice I expected. Why didn't you raise him yourself?"

"My body is blessed with the skills to take life," he explained. "The hanar honed them in me. I have few others." His voice lowered slightly. "I didn't want that life for Kolyat. I hoped he would find his own way." He lifted his chin, perhaps in defiance of any shame he might have felt. "If he hated me, so be it. He would not have shared the path of sin."

He turned to face her, stepping lightly to one side. "I used my contacts to trace Kolyat. He has become... disconnected. He does what his body wills."

She tilted her head softly. "You'll have to explain that one to me."

"Disconnected," he restated, "The body is not our true self. The soul is. Body and soul work as one in a whole person. When the soul is weakened by despair or fear, when the body is ill or injured, the individual is disconnected – no longer whole"

"What's wrong with him?" she asked. "Is he hurt?"

"Something happened that should not have. He knows where I've been, what I've done. I don't know his reasons but he has gone to the Citadel. He has taken a job as a hitman." He paused and added, "I would like your help to stop him. He is... this is not a path he should walk."

She turned his way, her expression alarmed. "You don't hire a raw rookie for a contract killing."

"I'm afraid someone may have seen we share a name, and assumed we share skills." His voice became frustrated. "I don't know why he would accept the task."

She lifted an eyebrow at his denial, but gestured lightly, trying not to sound too hard. "To be closer to you, maybe?"

He stood straighter, lifting his head. "That thought haunts me more than any other."

"What made him go to the Citadel?" she wondered aloud.

He answered. "Years ago I prepared a package for him. A relic of my ill-spent life. I had volus bankers store it, and arranged for delivery when I died. He acquired it early." His brow darkened, his expression troubled. "I don't really know how. I did wetwork on the Citadel around the time his mother died. That may be why he went there."

She shook her head softly. She wanted to help him – she really did – but finding targets had never really been her forte. Eliminating them was. She told him so. "Thane, I don't have your contacts and I don't have your tracking skills. Why do you need my help for this?"

She guessed she struck a chord with him, because his tone was emphatic as he responded, as if he were frustrated with her inability to understand a very basic emotional principle. "I don't _need_ your help. I _want_ it." He looked away, his expression pained.

"The last time I saw my son..." He faded away into another memory, and his eyes zoned out.

"They wrapped her body in the seaweeds, weighted it with stones. He tries to pull from me. He calls for her. The hanar lift her off the platform. They sing like bells. 'Her fire has gone to be kindled anew.' He begs them not to take her away. They let her body slide into the water. He hits me.

"'Don't let them! Stop them! Why weren't you – ?'

"It rains. It always rains on Kahje. Warm water pours down his face."

When he snapped back to himself he hung his head, his eyes sad and distant. She turned her own face away. "I didn't mean to make you relive that."

"Perfect memory," he replied in a defeated tone. "It _is_ sometimes a burden."

She reassured him the only way she could. "I'll get us to the Citadel as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Shepard," he told her, and he quickly turned back to his chair. She watched him go. "I'll be meditating until you need me," he said.

She stepped outside the room to leave him to his thoughts, but her own were so loud she almost wondered if he could hear them through the walls.

He had once asked her about the most difficult moment in her own life. It was not Horizon – that was only the most difficult moment that still had a scar to show. Number one was the day her mother left. She had barely given him any details, just the bare bones, cold hard facts of it. When he described what happened to _him_, he laid it all there on the table. The contrast was striking.

She might have said the difference was only because he could remember everything perfectly, but that wasn't really an excuse. Humans didn't have perfect memory, but their memories did tend to be exceptional when the event was especially painful or traumatic. She could have told him everything about that day, everything. She could remember it all with perfect clarity.

She could have told him how thrilled she was to be given a treat by her mother, who usually tried to pretend she didn't exist. Her mother had a new boyfriend – another new 'Daddy' around the tiny, filthy apartment they called home this month. Except this one didn't even bother to pretend he wanted her around. She spent more time outside the apartment than in it, had even been forced to sleep outside the door one night when they forgot about her. When her mother greeted her home from school with the promise of pizza, a younger Shepard felt what she hadn't felt in a long time: loved. She never saw the abandonment coming.

When she got back home, she thought nothing of her mother being absent. She just ate her pizza. Then she went to the couch and watched cartoons. Before long, she started to realize that the apartment was too quiet for her mother to be there. She distinctly remembered wandering through every room, and the shock she got when she moved into her mother's bedroom. Everything was gone. Every stitch of clothing. Every trinket. Everything of value.

Except her.

The scar from that day would probably never heal. Her mother was likely dead, and her daughter wasn't going to be long after her it seemed. But _his_ pain could be seen to. She was suddenly very determined to do whatever she could to help him, almost out of pure principle.

The problem was, of course, that she had no idea _what_ to do. She meant what she said before. She had no skills here that would help him. All her 'contacts' thought she was dead and, let's be frank, a good many of them had hated her when they thought she was alive. And she was no investigator – hardly. She could sign her name with an assault rifle but she didn't know a suspect from Adam until someone aimed her in the right direction. All she had to offer was this ship and this crew.

The light bulb went off. She looked up, and started down the long walk toward the Main Battery, the floor swallowed up by her long strides.

"Garrus," she said as she entered the room where the former Citadel Security agent holed up. "I need your help."


	8. If Love Is a Labor

"Who are you, and what have you done with Shepard?"

Garrus's dry humor was exactly what she needed, and despite herself a wry grin burst across her face. "I'm serious!" she said, her tone complaining, and she pushed against his armor as she made way for the crate that had become her favorite perch in this part of the ship.

"Okay, okay," the turian responded, holding his hands aloft in submission. "You need my help." He blinked at the Commander thoughtfully. "You do realize that the bit about having style was a joke, right? If you're looking for fashion tips for your next date, I'd suggest Miranda."

For a moment, she was thrown off. "Why does everyone think it's date night in Shepardville?" she asked.

Garrus only blinked. "They do?" Shepard's frustration did a complete one-eighty and she gave the turian an unimpressed look, crossing her arms over her chest. Just because she wasn't jumping up and down for a new boy toy, didn't mean she deserved _that_ level of surprise from him. "I mean," he quickly corrected himself at her look, "With who?"

Shepard spent exactly half a second feeling totally embarrassed and coming very close to blushing, before she pushed the sentiment aside as completely silly and shook her head. "It's just stupid scuttlebutt," she said hastily, waving the problem away.

"Uh huh," he replied, sounding more than a little amused. "I gotta get out of the battery more often. I'm missing out on all the real news back here. Hey," his tone changed, "Do you think you could recruit dates for all the crew?"

"Don't get your hopes up, scarface," Shepard responded, just waiting for him to get it out of his system. His dry, raspy chuckle filled the room, but he talked through it in an attempt to stop himself.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He gestured at her. "You were saying?"

Except now, especially after that conversation, she wasn't sure she wanted to ask him. Although, if she didn't she would feel like a bad person, because the _one_ thing she could offer to Thane – a working knowledge of Citadel security – she didn't have the guts to ask for. So she took a breath, sucked it up, and asked.

"We're headed to the Citadel," she told him. "I know you were hoping we would get back there."

"Good!" Garrus replied, "Been waiting to get my hands on that scumbag Sidonis for too long now."

Shepard nodded knowingly, completely relating. "While we're there, I wondered if you would help me with Thane. He's looking for someone on the Citadel, and you have more recent knowledge of the place than any of us."

He blinked. "I dunno, Shepard. I'm not all that current on Citadel news."

"More current than I am," she pointed out. "Definitely more current than Thane. He hasn't been there in ten years."

"Well," the turian replied, mulling it over. "I don't see why not. What do you need me to do?"

"I'm not sure yet. We'll see what we can find out. I'd just..." she thought about how to word it, but figured honesty was the best policy. She would develop finesse as she went along, if this asking for help thing became a habit. (She hoped not.)

"I'd like you to be there."

Garrus took a moment to take this in, his mandibles flaring with an emotion he didn't express. "Not a problem, Shepard," he told her willingly. "If you need me, I'm there."

Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Garrus," she said genuinely, standing from her crate. "I'll have EDI notify you when we're close." She passed through the doorway and out onto the metal walkway outside, but stopped when he called after her.

"Who are we looking for? Maybe I can talk to my old contacts, see what I can find out."

She turned around, really appreciative but hesitant to give away too much information without Thane's permission. But considering Garrus was going to be helping them, he would find out eventually anyway. "His son," she replied, hesitating before adding, "Kolyat."

"Ah," he replied, in a voice that was unreadable. And then, "A man with baggage, huh? I had no idea – "

He didn't get a chance to finish, though, before Shepard was hurtling back down the gangway for him and he was forced to jump for the door controls.

"Vakarian!" she called through the metal plating.

The technology on the hololock brought his voice through to her more clearly. "Sorry, Shepard. Working on some calibrations. Can this wait?"

"Calibrations my ass!"

"Sounds like you have that covered, Commander."

Garrus Vakarian was officially a dead man. Turian. Whatever.

* * *

Thane emerged from Life Support as they were making their way to the elevator. He looked strained still, but oddly calm, as if he had wrapped his emotions up in a box inside and would only open them up again when necessary. She could relate to that.

"Thane," she greeted, not stopping her path to the core of the deck. "Garrus is coming with us. He has business on the Citadel as well, and as former C-Sec he knows a little bit about how things work on the inside."

"Been a while since I was there," the turian quickly corrected, talking himself down. "Not sure how much help I'll be."

"Well you're never _much_ help, Garrus," Shepard easily replied as they all trudged into the elevator.

"Hmph."

"I would be grateful for your assistance," Thane replied formally.

Shepard punched the node to take them to the bridge. "Do you have any new information?" she asked.

The drell responded, "No. My contacts on the Citadel are either unaware of Kolyat's presence, or afraid of inciting my anger."

Shepard was forced to smirk. "Can't imagine why."

"Indeed."

Moments later, the wide expanse of the Citadel lay before them, nothing but a badly guarded C-Sec entrance between them and the most important hub in the entire galaxy, and they all got through with no trouble: a dead woman, a vigilante, and an assassin, all armed to the teeth. She had to agree with Thane and Garrus; the security was pathetic.

But convenient, all the same. They walked right into C-Sec without so much as a metal detector going off. She didn't even have to tell anyone to 'act cool'. She loved her crew.

"Captain Bailey," she greeted the C-Sec officer who had made it all possible. It had occurred to her that a man willing to do her favors might be just as willing to do favors for other, less reputable people, but in this case it was – that word again – convenient.

The captain was surprisingly happy to aid them. Aside from a bit of racism – she and Garrus shared a look when they found C-Sec now 'reported' the presence of non-Council species – he directed them to someone called Mouse, a local nobody at the bottom of the criminal totem pole who had been committing petty crimes since he was a child. (But he had created a VI version of herself, so Shepard forgave him that.)

"It sounds like your boy is running with the wrong crowd," the Captain said to Thane, and Shepard turned her eyes to the drell curiously.

"Yes," he replied simply. "I agree. He faces a dark path." Shepard found that Thane impressed her at every turn. He wasn't even afraid of sharing a little of his fear with a total stranger, although it _was_ a sympathetic one, she mused.

"We better hurry," she interrupted. If she knew what Kolyat was thinking – and something told her, she might know better than most – they wouldn't want to give him any more time than they absolutely had to.

They weren't far from C-Sec when Thane stopped her with the sound of his voice. "You didn't tell them that Kolyat plans to assassinate someone," he noted.

Shepard turned to him, her eyes drifting across his face. He looked tense, worried, just the same as he had when she had been shocked to see him in Life Support. "We're gonna stop him before that happens, aren't we?"

He blinked and then nodded, and when he spoke his voice was decidedly less taut. "Yes, we are. Thank you, Shepard."

She gave a brief half-smile and nodded. "If we walk we might spot him along the way," she offered, bypassing the taxi stand and taking the stairs to the next floor by twos.

"Excellent thinking," Thane commended.

She was surprised by the look of the contact Captain Bailey directed them to. His name was Mouse, a twenty-something year old kid who looked like he didn't get enough to eat. He was hanging out by a public communications terminal, and when they walked up he was talking to someone about a delivery of some sort. He looked agitated. "No, it won't be a problem," he promised in a pleading tone. "I'll have the crates to you by the end of the day."

But then he turned around and jumped halfway too the ceiling. "Oh shit! Krios!" he said in shock, and Shepard turned her eyes to the assassin next to her. These two knew each other? When was he planning to tell her that? "I thought you retired!" the boy said, and Thane shook his head coldly.

"Commander Shepard?" the boy continued, looking to her quizzically. "I thought you died!" He glanced between them. "What do you want with me?"

Thane had met her eyes, seeing the surprised (and none-too-pleased) look there, so he stepped forward to handle the situation. He placed a hand on Mouse's shoulder. "Be still, Mouse," he encouraged. "You can change your pants later."

She lifted an eyebrow. "How do you know Thane?" she asked pointedly. Thane lowered his gaze, but she kept hers trained on Mouse – since clearly that's how she had to find out about this stuff!

"Krios?" the kid asked. "He didn't...? Nuh uh, if he didn't say nothing, I ain't either." He crossed his arms defiantly.

Thane spoke up instead. "When I heard the name I didn't think it could be the same Mouse," he explained, turning to look at her. "He was a contact on the Citadel when I was active. He and some other children would gather information on my targets.

"You'd use children to spy for you?" she asked, not quite sure how she felt about that. He made no excuses.

"Children, the poor," he explained, meeting her gaze. "My people call them drala'fa: the ignored. They are everywhere, see everything, yet they are never seen."

He returned his attention to the boy, stepping forward fiercely and pulling him hard by his jacket. His face was inches from the boy's. "You gave another drell instructions for an assassination. Who's the target?"

"I... I don't know," the kid stuttered as Thane stepped back. "I didn't ask. 'Cause the people I work for? They can make me disappear."

"Kid," Shepard said dryly, "I've made people much more important than you disappear. Whoever you're hiding for isn't worth it."

"You..." Mouse stared at her for a moment, then got brave. "You wouldn't hurt me!"

She stepped forward, narrowing her eyes. "Oh yeah?"

His eyes widened, and he appealed to Thane instead. "Krios! I did good work for you!" he pleaded. "You were always good to us. You gave me chocolate. Real chocolate."

Thane winced, turning his gaze away from them both. "I never even gave my own son chocolate," he admitted.

"I remember whenever you talked about your kid, your eyes got like that," Mouse said, and Shepard suddenly felt very separate from the two men, like they were in their own realm of reminiscence and she was just a bystander. "Like you were somewhere else," he explained. "Sad."

She looked over at Thane and and was surprised to see the expression he had worn in Life Support was back. The idea that Mouse could recognize it made his pain seem so much more real, and less recent, than she had even realized. Had he been wearing that frown so long?

"He had that holo you took of me," Mouse continued. "That's how he proved who he was. When he turned it on, his eyes got like that, too."

For a long moment, the two men simply looked at each other, some silent communication being passed between them that she would never understand. At last, Mouse spoke again. "The guy I carried for is Elias Kelham."

Despite everything that had passed between the two, an apparently touching reunion based on a very old history, Shepard had to admit she was surprised when Mouse gave up the information. She had thought – well, _normally_ it took a great deal of strong arming to get what she wanted. It seemed all it took with Mouse was the long-standing desire for Thane's approval. She looked over to him, to gauge his reaction.

But he only looked... distraught. Subtly so, but it was there in the tightness of his cheeks and the soft pinch in the corner of his eyes.

Mouse obliged them with everything they would need to know to track down Kelham, or at least all they needed to get Captain Bailey to do it (which she fully intended to do, while she could. After they took care of Sidonis, they would all be avoiding C-Sec for a while.)

"I'm outta here Krios," Mouse said. "Next time you're in town..." he began, trailing off to let habit fill the rest, but then glanced at Shepard. "Just... don't bring the family." Shepard's eyebrows jumped up her forehead, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Did _everyone_ think she had the hots for Thane?

"Hey," she called after him, before he got away entirely. Not that she felt responsible, and not that she was getting a big softy streak, but she had been where Mouse was and now was as good an opportunity to get to him as any. He was running scared, looking for a way out. Just like she had been. She gestured for him to come back. "You ever get sick of sleeping in corners and running from the cops, the Alliance can use people who know how to move goods and information."

"The Alliance?" he asked, like she was crazy.

She shrugged. "Doesn't pay as well as the private sector, but you get regular meals, roof over your head." She flicked her hardsuit. "And the armor's not so bad." She gestured. "There's a recruiter in the human embassy on the Presidium. They give you any trouble, tell them I sent you."

He paused for a long time, as if it was an option he had never considered before. "What do you get out of it?" he asked skeptically.

She shrugged lightly. "A copy of the Shepard VI." After a brief bit of dealing, she took the offered data disc with a look of unabashed pleasure.

"You're going to try to replace EDI with that, aren't you?" Garrus asked.

"Totally," Shepard confirmed.

She turned her attention back to Thane, who was pacing around a tight circle in the corner. She stepped away from Garrus to talk to him.

"How you holding up?" she asked, watching him though he seemed to see nothing. He was lost inside himself again.

He lowered his head. "Mouse knew more about my life than Kolyat ever did." And then, quite suddenly, he lost himself to a memory. She never would get used to that, she imagined.

"He smiles up at me, broken teeth and scabby knees, bare feet black – a dead end future looking up at me, worshipping the petty gifts I offer."

He hung his head for a long moment, before finally returning his eyes to her face. "I was the only good thing he had back then. But I left him, as I left Kolyat."

"Mouse said you had a holo of him," she mentioned out of curiosity. That didn't quite add up to the rough way he had treated the boy, and she was curious.

"Yes," he said, "a foolish bit of sentimentality. I can perfectly recall every moment I spent with Mouse." Ah, of course. A drell wouldn't need a holo.

He slipped into memory again. "He pulls at my arm, smiles. He wants to know that I'll remember him. That anyone will remember him. I take the holo. He smiles at himself in miniature on my palm. Then a frown crinkles his brow. He pats my pockets, checking for other holos. 'Where's your son?' he asks."

She watched him for a long moment. Always caught up in his memories, she wondered how he had made it this far under the guilt he carried. "There's no use dwelling on the past," she warned him.

His brow tightened. "We must carry the weight of our decisions, Shepard. You, of all people, know this."

The way he said it – you, of all people – made her feel small and chastised, the way Mouse must have felt, or Kolyat back when Thane was still a father to him. She wasn't sure she agreed with him, but it kept her from saying anything more on the subject at present.

"We should go talk to Bailey."

* * *

The conversation with Bailey was short, and her feelings were confirmed. The guy was a dirty bastard, taking bribes from Kelham in return for his cooperation. In the end he still proved useful, which was all that mattered in the long run. He brought Kelham in, kicking and screaming like the privileged primadonna he was.

"He'll expect me to get him out of this," Bailey announced, sounding like he was second-guessing his judgment. Shepard bristled.

But instead, Thane responded, taking over for her and saying exactly what she would have said (but with admittedly fewer curse words, glaring, and sucker punching.) "Not this time, I think," he said. He was quiet but deliberate, his dark eyes almost daring Bailey to contradict him. She had to admit, the effect was incredibly satisfying. What she wanted to say got said, and she didn't even have to get her blood going. She could get used to that.

Bailey didn't have the chance to go back on his promise, because at just that moment Kelham's lawyer showed up. "I'll stall him," he told them. "Get in there and work fast."

Thane watched him go, and followed in his footsteps until he was before her. When Bailey was out of earshot, he turned his eyes to her.

"We should question him together, keep the pressure on," he told her. She got the distinct impression an assassin of his talents didn't really need the back up, but that, like he said in Life Support, he wanted it. "Thoughts on how we approach it?" he asked.

There was only one way to deal with people like Kelham, though, and if he thought her strategy would be any different he didn't know her very well. "You play bad cop, I'll play bad cop," she said, in exactly the same tone of voice someone else would have used with a 'good cop' inserted in there somewhere.

"Very well," he replied, looking at her sagely. "I'll _pretend_ we're ready to kill him." Pretend. She moved her head back slightly, not quite a full balk but certainly the beginning of one. Then she tilted her head slightly. _As you wish_, she seemed to say. Though she had no qualms putting a bullet in Kelham to get him to talk, this mission wasn't about what she wanted.

"We can't push too hard, though," he continued thoughtfully, even as he turned toward the interrogation room. "We need the information more than we need the corpse." Huh... was this his way of explaining why he had put her in her place? Given that he was watching her for her response, she estimated so. She nodded.

"Whatever you say, boss," she said lightly. No need for this to get awkward.

The interrogation was in no way surprising. She flexed her Spectre muscles, put a gun to his face, and Kelham squealed like the pig he was. _See?_ She said to Thane with a look. Sometimes she _did_ know what she was talking about. But she didn't hold it against him, only smugly walked out of the interrogation room. She wasn't going to waste anymore breath on Kelham than she had to. "You're a problem below my pay grade," she told him.

The doors of interrogation had barely closed behind her when Thane looked her way. "That may go down in history as the shortest interrogation ever." His tone was complimentary. She just smirked at him.

Bailey was right there when they emerged from the hallway, though whether he was seeing to their well-being or to Kelham's it was hard for her to decide. He asked what they found out. She hesitated, then spoke. "We tracked down another lead. We're looking for Joram Talid. You know him?"

"Joram," the captain responded, recognition registering in his features. "Yeah," he said, "You might have seen his posters around. He's promising to end organized crime on the wards. Thing is his message is all mixed up in race politics. He's anti-human."

Shepard lifted her eyebrow. Really? People could openly campaign on an anti-human platform? But she shook her head. "I don't give a damn what Joram's politics are," she finally cut in, interrupting his rant. She reminded him, "This is about Thane's son, not him."

"Sergeant!" Bailey ordered, waving over another officer. "Get a patrol car. These two need to go to the eight hundred blocks."

"Yes, sir!" the sergeant responded, and before they knew it they were on their way to their next destination.

* * *

The sergeant followed them almost up until they were right on top of Talid. She didn't like that, not a bit. She was sure that at the very least the tail was reporting back to Bailey about their location, and at worst... well, she guessed she would find out. There was no time to shake the Sergeant up or try to lose her. They had Talid, and they had to stick with him. She ignored the warning in her mind, and turned her attention to Thane.

"There he is," she said, her tone surprisingly soft considering what they were up against. "How do you want to play this?"

Thane took in his surroundings, and she could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, drawing from past experience, picking out places to see without being seen. He pointed overhead. "Follow Talid on the maintenance catwalks. Tell me what he's doing. The krogan bodyguard will make him easy to follow."

"Where will you be?" she asked. Not because she was concerned. Thane could take care of himself. She was just... Well, anyway, she needed to know.

"The darkest corner with the best view," was his answer. It wasn't exactly a reassuring answer, since it meant she wouldn't be able to see him if she wanted to, but she couldn't think of any way to express as much without coming across as needlessly anxious. So she nodded, turned, and moved towards the catwalk. But not before she saw Thane bow his head.

She wasn't close enough to hear what he said, but she wished she was. She didn't believe in any gods – most of the time, she barely believed in people – but Thane's devotion intrigued her, and she would liked to have heard what he had to say to gods that had let his wife die and his son become 'disconnected.' Did he pray for forgiveness, for grace, or did he do what she would be tempted to do and tell them they could all go to Hell?

Following Talid wasn't difficult. He was completely unafraid, as if he was flaunting his corruption, saying to any who spotted him, 'Yeah, I'm not clean, but I'm better than the humans.' And they agreed with him. In some sick, twisted part of their minds, they really believed that just because he was like them, and from the wards, and because he hated the humans as much as they did, he had the answers. And he exploited them for their ignorance. Scum like that didn't deserve the air they breathed, but that wasn't her choice to make this time.

It was Thane's. He had deferred to her earlier out of politeness, but this was really his show. She was here to support him.

She followed. It wasn't ideal, but she could keep an eye on Talid most of the time simply by watching through the grating overhead. The times she couldn't, her heart nearly pounded out of her chest, worried that he would get away from her while she was passing through a doorway or taking a turn, and Kolyat would be lost because of her.

And then suddenly, "I see him," Thane said over her radio, and through the obscure mixture of stress and relief in his voice, she could tell he meant Kolyat. Her heart soared. They might still pull this off!

She came to a skidding stop on the balcony overhead, looking down on Talid, and then she saw him, too. His markings were similar to his father's, but he was taller, thinner, and he didn't walk with the composed grace that his father did. Her eyes widened as he pushed aside a passer by, pulling a pistol as he went. She did the only thing she could.

"Kolyat!" she shouted, her tone the same combination of terror and fury that any parent's might wield. He suddenly stopped, looking up at her, but when he didn't recognize her he glanced back at Talid. If nothing else, her shout had afforded the turian and his bodyguard with a warning, and they made full use of it. The Krogan bodyguard turned to fire, but Kolyat got two shots off first. The final one dealt a blow that knocked the Krogan down, but from personal experience she doubted it killed him. Kolyat was still in danger, and there wasn't any time.

Talid fled and Kolyat ran after him, and without bothering to see if her teammate was following Shepard took chase, leaping over bannisters like they were hurdles on a racetrack instead of perfectly sane barriers meant to keep normal people from plummeting to their death. "Thane!" she called over her radio, frantic.

"I saw," he responded, oddly calm but she could tell his voice was tight with fear.

"He's heading to Talid's apartment," she informed him as she slid over one final bannister, trying to slow her fall to the story below but she stuttered her run anyway. Thane got to the door first.

She took the stairs by two but Thane's progress was slower. He was caught up in a long stare with his son. How long had it been since they had seen each other? Would he even recognize his father? She approached, weapon drawn, ready to do anything to keep Kolyat from making the mistake his father dreaded. Her eyes were focused, unblinking, as she watched for him to make a move.

Thane approached more gently. "Kolyat." It was hard to describe the tone of his voice, but she was surprised that there was no censure in it, no chiding. He wasn't here to lecture. Instead, it was more pleading. All he wanted was a moment of his son's attention.

Kolyat's expression was more easily read. If he had been in doubt of his father's identity as they entered, he was sure of it now. He seemed in utter disbelief, and after that, unbelievable anger. "This... this is a joke," he responded, the squint in his eyes one of false, mirthless humor. "Now?" he asked, tilting his head angrily as he flung words like daggers at his father. "Now you show up?"

Quite suddenly, the room filled with red and blue lights, and C-Sec came crashing through the door. Shepard cursed under her breath. Fucking Bailey. If she got a hold of that bastard...

"Get out of my way," Kolyat shouted. "I'm walking out. He's coming with me!"

But Thane wouldn't hear of it. "They'll have snipers outside," he warned, his voice calm but she could hear the desperate undercurrent within.

"I don't need _your_ help!" Kolyat replied scathingly. "All of you, back off! I'll kill him!"

She operated on pure instinct, as she always did. Kolyat was inexperienced, untested, unused to gunfights. The shot she fired blew the bulb in a nearby lamp, taking the young drell's attention from his target _and_ from the people in front of him. "What the Hell?" he cried, turning back but too late. She was already upon him, punching him lightly in the jaw just to keep him off balance. She grabbed the gun out of his far hand, unloaded the clip, and threw it to the ground. It skittered across the floor.

"Talid," she said, her voice barely restrained because what she _wanted_ to do was put a bullet in the guy herself. But, not the best example to set for baby Kolyat. "Get the Hell out of here," she said instead, and in her tone the warning was there. Leave, or else.

He took the former option.

"Take the boy into custody," Bailey ordered immediately. Kolyat looked between the C-Sec captain, Shepard, and his father, and decided the real blame lied with the last.

"You son of a bitch!" he cursed.

She shook her head, interrupting to get the conversation back on point. Though she spoke to Kolyat, for the first few moments her eyes rested on Bailey, daring him to contradict her, daring him to get between Thane and his son again. "We're doing this for you, Kolyat," she told him, finally shifting her eyes back to him. "Your father traveled hundreds of light years to find you, and he doesn't have much time left."

But only half her message got across: Bailey backed down; Kolyat didn't. "What, so you came to get my forgiveness?" he asked, blowing his father off with a gesture. His tone was derisive, dismissive. "So you can die in peace or something?"

Thane had the patience of a saint. She had thought him gentlemanly before, even gracious, but in that moment he became something more. He stepped forward, into the sphere of his son's wrath, and didn't even bother to defend himself. He wasn't here for that._._

"I came to grant you peace," he told his son, his dark eyes blinking both sets of lids. And all at once, she remembered their conversation on the Normandy, when he had asked about her childhood. He asked if she could ever forgive her mother, and she had told him no. Now, he stood before his son and refused to ask for that. Instead, he did what any unselfish parent _ought_ to do, and only tried to give his son the comfort he had neglected in the past. She didn't know if Kolyat would believe his sincerity, but she did.

His gaze fell, his face taking on that look again. _Like you're somewhere else. Sad._ She watched, willing him to speak, to find the words to make things right with his son. They existed, she suddenly believed the way she hadn't believed in anything before. All he had to do was talk.

At last, Thane lifted his face. "You're angry because I wasn't there when your mother died," he summarized. He didn't absolve himself of guilt, or try to put the blame somewhere else. _Because I wasn't there_. She turned her eyes to Kolyat.

"You weren't there when she was alive," his son told him cuttingly. "Why should you be there when she died?"

Again, Thane didn't argue. Again, he took the blame. He moved past it. "Your mother... they killed her to get to me. It was _my_ fault."

"What?" Kolyat asked, as if the scope of the confession was simply too much to take in at one time. She couldn't blame him. He had been left in the dark for so long.

Thane didn't press him to understand, he only continued to explain. "After her body was given to the deep, I went to find them. The triggermen. The ringleaders. I hurt them, eventually killed them. When I went back to see you, you were..." He winced, reliving a painful memory no doubt. "Older," he finally finished. "I should have stayed with you."

Kolyat's tone remained hard, but whether he realized it or not his anger was fading and his words lacked their previous venom. "I guess it's too bad for me you waited so long, huh?"

Thane was not at a loss for words this time. He simply looked at his son, as if what he had to say now had been waiting on the tip of his tongue for years. "Kolyat," he pleaded, "I have taken many bad things out of the world. _You_ are the only good thing I ever added to it."

And to her surprise, Kolyat lowered his head and tears began to pour down his almost-familiar face. He didn't respond. She couldn't blame him. In his situation, she would be a wreck. But she would never be in his situation because Kolyat had a parent who cared, and she didn't. She wondered if he knew just how lucky he was.

"This isn't a conversation you should have in front of strangers," Bailey finally spoke up. "Boys, take Kolyat and his father back to the precinct. Give them a room and as much time as they need." Well, at least he grew a brain before he spoke again. Shepard turned her eyes to Thane, waiting for his approval, but he was preoccupied.

He had placed a hand on Kolyat's shoulder, who didn't shy away. Thane bent his head to meet his son's eyes, and Kolyat lifted his gaze from where he had rooted it on the floor. She didn't know what passed between them, but for a moment they looked into each other's faces, silent but connected. And then Kolyat looked down again. She knew what that felt like. It was hard to let himself be vulnerable to someone he had vowed never to trust again.

"You're doing him a favor, Bailey," she responded, giving the two some privacy, and eating crow if it must be said. But she gave credit where credit was due. "Thanks," she offered.

"Yeah, well," Bailey responded, "send me a Christmas card or something."

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspiciously. "Why are you helping him?" she asked. She knew her reasons. Bailey's escaped her, unless she just really was that persuasive.

Bailey turned his blue eyes on Thane and his son, taking the pair in for a long, quiet moment. "You think he's the only one who ever screwed up raising a son?" he finally asked. Realization passed over her features as everything clicked into place. So helping Thane and Kolyat was an act of penance, and the deadbeat parents he had talked about before... were him. She felt guilty for having judged him (but still thought he was a dirty bastard for taking bribes, thanks.) "I have to get back to the precinct. Come on, I'll give you a lift."

* * *

She didn't know how long Thane and Kolyat talked, but it was a long time. She and Garrus waited outside, leaning up against one of the columns between the C-Sec office and the walkway outside. The position had the benefit of covering up all sounds of their conversation, and gave them plenty of subjects for people watching.

"Well," Garrus said in his dry voice. "That was eventful."

She nodded. "I'm just glad it turned out the way it did."

"Coulda been worse," he agreed. "I thought you shot Talid, when I heard your pistol go off."

She smirked, not even bothering to deny her reputation. "I thought about it," she admitted.

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Thane was trying to teach his kid there's more to life than killing. Didn't seem like the proper message to send." She gestured dismissively with her hand. "Besides, less paperwork. No council. No Udina."

"That's worth almost any price," he agreed. "Your assassin got pretty rough with that Mouse kid earlier," he continued. "Didn't think he had it in him."

Shepard responded softly, lest they be overheard. "He _is_ the best assassin in the galaxy, Garrus. I think he knows how to get his hands dirty."

"_Is_ he now?" her friend responded, and only because she knew him so well the tone smacked of jealousy.

She glanced over at him, one of her eyebrows crooking in amusement. "You're still the best sniper," she offered as a kind of consolation prize.

"Well," he replied, subtly pleased. "That's a given."

She grinned, and shook her head. Then, she noticed Captain Bailey was looking their way.

"They've been in there a while," she said a little louder, hoping to cover up the secretive way she and Garrus had been talking just seconds before.

"The kid's been through a lot," he responded. "I ran some searches in the C-Sec archives. About ten years back, a bunch of real bad people were killed. Like someone was cleaning house." Shepard lifted an eyebrow, wondering where exactly he was going with this. "The prime suspect was a drell," he finally got to the point. "We never caught him."

She uncrossed her arms, keeping her tone light and airy. "Someone like that is trouble you don't want to deal with," she warned.

"Someone's got to deal with it," Bailey responded, and Shepard wondered if she was going to have to pull out the I'm a Spectre card for the second time that day. "Doesn't have to be me though."

Thane emerged. When Bailey's eyes lifted, she turned and let her gaze fall on the drell as well. He looked out across the walkways in front of him, before turning his head their way. When their eyes met, he turned fully and began to walk over to them.

He was composed, calm, collected. Whatever had happened in the interrogation room, he was recovered enough to have resumed the cool professionalism he so often showed to outsiders. That didn't stop her from watching him for clues.

"How'd it go?" she asked, though she didn't hope to get a real answer here. But she forgot she was talking to Thane.

"Our problems – " He stopped himself, before continuing anew. "They aren't something I can fix with a few words. We'll keep talking, see what happens." She nodded, her face softer than it almost ever was.

"Your boy shot some people," Bailey piped up – completely unwanted as usual. "No one I feel sympathy for, but, there it is."

She spoke up, alarmed. "That kid goes through the system we both know he's there for the rest of his life. Those guys were a waste of skin – scales – whatever!"

Bailey looked at her strangely, then shrugged. "If you've got another suggestion, I'm listening."

"Give him a job," she responded hopefully. "He can work off his," she used quote fingers for a phrase she had heard all too often in her youth, "debt to society, and you can keep an eye on him."

The captain raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like more work for me," he argued. "And I just can't just deputize him into C-Sec. You have to go through channels."

Shepard quickly corrected him. "I didn't say have him work for C-Sec," she replied, hoping to appeal to the fatherly side she had seen earlier. "I said have him work for you."

He stood up, mulling it over. "Interesting. I'll think about it," he agreed, and Shepard knew better than to push farther. The grey-haired captain reached for Thane's hand.

"Thank you, Captain," Thane said genuinely as they shook hands.

They walked a few feet away, to the place where she and Garrus had been conversing earlier, but when no conversation readily started and two pairs of eyes turned his way the turian took the hint. "Uhhh, I'm gonna go... check out the ads."

They watched him go, and when she returned her gaze to Thane he was already watching her.

"Thank _you_, Shepard. I..." He dropped his gaze for a moment, his eye ridges coming together. "You didn't have to take the time to help me with Kolyat. I know that. I'm very grateful."

She brushed his gratitude aside. "I look out for my crew, Thane," she told him truthfully.

"I'm beginning to see that," he replied, and then he continued, tilting his head softly to the side. "When I first agreed to help you fight the Collectors, I thought this mission would be an opportunity for me to give back to the galaxy for all I had taken away from it. Now I find myself gaining more from my time on the Normandy than I ever imagined." He met her gaze. "I am honored to serve alongside you, Shepard."

One corner of her mouth pulled back in a smile, and then she bowed her head in a slow, elegant expression. Recognizing the mimicry of his own trademark gesture, he responded in kind.

"Come on," she said, turning to find Garrus. "Let's take care of Sidonis, and get off this shithole."

"The sooner, the better," he agreed.


	9. I'll Slave til the End

The light overhead threw the room into harsh reflection. Kolyat had seated himself on the edge of the interrogation chair, his shoulders hunched and his hands resting between his knees. It made him look his age, and Thane was reminded what a young man he was. He _was_ a man now, but he was not yet fully grown. A bit of childishness still touched his build, his face – his mind. Part of him thrilled at the thought – he hadn't missed watching his son grow up entirely. And part of him fell into the old habit of anxiety for his child. A young man was much easier to hurt than an old one.

Which is why he waited. He stood, his hands clasped behind his back, his back straight as a board, and watched. Every once in a while his son would look up at him, and then back down at his hands. He would fidget. He understood. He was fighting with the memories, fighting with his own sense of self-preservation, and if he was anything like his father, he was struggling to find the words. He would give his son the space and time necessary to say what he really meant, and not the emotional missiles he had been shooting earlier.

"I didn't know," he began, his voice sounding childish, ashamed. "No one ever told me. They just... they just said that she died."

"I'm sorry, Kolyat," he replied sincerely. "You were very young."

The younger man drew his knees up in front of him on the chair, and rested his elbows on his knees. "So it's your fault, then," he summarized, clenching his jaw again. He looked down at his hands.

Thane didn't argue. "Yes." His son's face darkened, but not with anger. There was no new anger to be had, if his father admitted his fault.

"Why didn't you stop?" he asked, looking at his father briefly. Though it was a short glance, his father cherished every time his son lifted his face towards him. Every time it happened, he knew that his son was opening up to him a little more. He wanted answers, which meant he was listening, and that was something wonderful. He didn't deserve it, but he was grateful all the same.

And every time Kolyat tore his eyes angrily away again, his heart broke a little more. As much as he wanted to understand, his son was very angry. He didn't want to trust him, and even allowing his father to attempt to atone for what he'd done was more than he could bear. So he didn't give himself time enough to really look at his father, to see the defeat in his face or the familiar color of his eyes – same as his. He wanted to understand the man, without having to forgive him.

"I didn't think I had anything else to offer," his father at last replied. "I thought I was taking care of you and your mother, providing for you."

Kolyat snorted, examining a palm as if it had somehow changed in the last ten seconds. "Yeah, you did a great job of that." His sarcasm cut more deeply than he could have imagined, but Thane was patient, as unrelenting in his selflessness as he could be chasing down a target.

"I failed you both."

Without anyone to direct his anger at – his father's humble acceptance of guilt made him a less than ideal target – Kolyat found himself suddenly overwhelmed by old feelings brought back by his father's presence. He held his breath to stop the tears coming, but he couldn't, and he gasped as a sob threatened to completely overpower him. Then he swallowed hard and pushed the sob back down, but the tears kept coming.

"I thought it was my fault," he said, without looking at his father. He hastily pushed tears off of his face and continued. "You leaving. I thought..." He sniffed, swallowing harshly. "I thought you were angry at me, for letting her die." He was silent, staring down at the floor with an expression less cross and more ashamed. "I thought... it was my fault," he repeated, his voice soft and vulnerable, like the child he relived in his memories.

Thane could hardly stand the sight of his son that way, and he finally felt the full consequences of what he had done. He expected his son to be angry at him, that he would feel cheated and unloved, but he didn't know – couldn't know – that he had made him suffer like this for so many years, bearing the same burden his father did. But the guilt was rightfully his own, and he hated allowing Kolyat to feel the weight of it for so long.

"Kolyat," he pleaded, taking a step toward him. "It wasn't your fault."

But his approach seemed to stir something in his son, or maybe he was simply fed up with the tears. "No!" he replied angrily, his dark eyes lifting to his father's in a painfully hateful expression. "It was yours!" he shouted, jumping down from his perch and flying at his father. Thane didn't move as Kolyat's fists slammed against his chest, and then grabbed hold of his jacket. "It was yours!" he cried again, attempting to shake his father but he was not so strong as the bigger man and he was weakened by his emotions. The attempt soon faltered as Kolyat's face fell and his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"It was yours," he said again, weakly this time, as if no number of repetitions would ever make the ghosts of his own guilt disappear. Thane reached out to him, lightly touching his shoulder, and when that touch was not immediately shrugged off he stepped forward boldly and pulled his son into an embrace.

The last time he had hugged his son, he was small enough to sit in his lap comfortably. Now, he was almost as tall as he was, and shaking with the grief he had never taken the time to share with him ten years before. He closed his eyes against the ache of seeing his son suffer and knowing there was nothing he could do but share it with him. But that was more than he had done before. Irikah had died a decade ago, and for the first time he and his son were grieving together.

He wasn't sure how long they cried together before Kolyat realized himself and slowly pulled away, turning his back on his father to sniffle his last few sobs away by himself. It wasn't easy finding himself regulated again to the role of stranger after so briefly occupying that of father, but he allowed it.

"Kolyat," he said, reaching for him and then pulling the hand back. "I'm sorry."

He sniffed savagely. "Well, I don't forgive you!" He drew his sleeve across his face and turned around to glare at his father, who looked modestly back.

"I do not ask for it."

Kolyat's expression shifted, and his anger waned again. He moved to sit back down, letting his feet dangle from the edge of the lifted platform.

Thane was forcibly reminded of a summer day on Kahje, a happier day spent on the beach with his son. The sun shined through a light drizzle, and the cool water of the ocean by comparison was welcome bliss. They sat on a dock, their legs dangling over the side into the water below. He giggled as minnows nibbled at his webbed toes, bending far over the side to try to see them.

"You're tasty," he had told him, before pretending to try to take a bite himself. His son had giggled and squirmed, shrieking for help from his mother. Irikah had splashed her husband, playfully telling him to leave some for her. The cool salt water relieved his dry skin, and he had jumped into the water after her. She and Kolyat wrestled against him together, their combined weights against his superior strength. He eventually let them win, and pretended to be dunked beneath the waves.

He opened his eyes, returning to the cold, lifeless interrogation room. Kolyat stared at him, and he blinked. "I was... remembering," he explained. "The day on the beach. You must have been only a few years old."

His son nodded, his face softening. "Mother was afraid to let me swim on my own," he said, his thoughts canvassing a different part of their shared memory. "I walked down to the end of the dock on my own, to try to see the fish. She shouted at me when I leaned too far."

He let a very small, weak laugh escape his nose. "When the human shouted my name, for a moment..." He shook his head, not finishing the thought. The tone of her voice – the fear, the disappointment – had been so like his mother's that day. Still, it had been a stupid thought. Spirits couldn't speak.

"She is Commander Shepard," his father explained. Kolyat looked up.

"The one who saved the Citadel?" he asked. Thane nodded, and Kolyat's brow ridges tightened. "Why is she here?"

"To help me," he responded honestly, "in return for my help with the Collectors."

"The Collectors?" Kolyat repeated. "I thought they were a myth?"

Thane shook his head slowly. "They are very real. Shepard is going to defeat them."

His son's face shifted, the old rage setting back in. "What does that have to do with you?" he asked.

The older drell tilted his head, feeling again the youth that still lingered in his son. "Would you have others suffer what you and I have suffered?"

Kolyat shrugged one shoulder unfeelingly. After a long moment, he spoke again. "So you're going away again."

Thane didn't bother hiding the hurt in his voice at his son's reaction. "Yes."

Kolyat's leg bounced fiercely against the chair and he crossed his arms. "Is it dangerous?"

His father considered the question a long moment before replying. "It is very likely that I will not return."

His son's dark gaze jumped to him. "You came all this way to talk to me, only to abandon me again?" he asked, and though Thane couldn't pretend he felt no shame, he felt justified, too.

"I was always going to return to the sea, Kolyat," he explained gently, and the boy's eyes fell to the floor. "If I die with Shepard, my death will at least serve a greater good."

His son stared at him a long time, and then gazed even longer at the floor of the room, at nothing. If he was caught up in a memory, Thane couldn't tell. He waited patiently, and at last Kolyat lifted his gaze again, looking straight ahead.

"Guess you'd better go, then," he said, refusing to look at his father.

Thane's eyes fell, but he couldn't blame his son. The fault was his own. He took a deep breath, prepared to say what he had not said in ten years, and not nearly enough before that.

"Kolyat," he said, hoping to gain his son's attention, but the boy faced stubbornly forward. "This may be difficult to understand. I know I have not been what you wished I would be as a father. But I am dying, and if this is the only chance I will have to tell you..." He swallowed, uncharacteristic nervousness coating his expression as he fidgeted his webbed fingers together.

"I love you."

He saw muscles in his son's face move beneath his skin, but he still did not look at him. "I never stopped," he finished, and then he turned to walk through the door.

Until the moment the doors closed behind him, he hoped for his son's voice. He hoped for him to call after him. He hoped to hear that his son returned his feelings. But it was a selfish thought, and as the doors locked again behind him the hope ended. He let his gaze fall to the floor, briefly allowing the hurt to wash over him before he locked it away again. He looked up over the Citadel, composing himself, fitting himself back together. Then he looked over, and felt the Commander's eyes upon him.

Yes. Whatever Kolyat's anger was now, eventually he would come to understand. And if he didn't, Thane was sure that _this_ choice, among so many that had been wrong, was correct. He had given his word to Shepard, and he would see it through.

And if he died before he could hear his son say the words he longed to hear, to see him smile or gaze upon his father with anything less than fury, it would still be a good death. But for the first time in many, many years, he sincerely hoped he lived to see all of those things happen.

And he had her to thank for that. For the first time in ten years, he had found something worth fighting for.


	10. Soldier

"Stunning."

Thane's calm, throaty voice never seemed out of place, Shepard suddenly realized as she pressed a thermal clip into her assault rifle. No matter what he said or how emphatically he said it, the sound always seemed to emanate from the very environment, never jarring or unpleasant the way her own sometimes felt to her. In the middle of a rainforest, he spoke and not a single animal rushed away in fear. Must have been some kind of hunting evolution, she reasoned, and pulled her helmet down tighter.

"Let's go." She forgot to cast a glance around to see the beauty he mentioned, and by the time they made the next clearing there would never be another chance. Gun shots popped all around her, and she dove into the deep pool of empty consciousness that consumed her during battle. She was perfectly collected, and deadly effective. She felt nothing, and she could admit she found a definite release in it.

"Never a warm welcome," she quipped as the last Blue Sun fell.

"We never come in peace," Thane pointed out, dropping from the pier he had climbed to break a sniper's neck.

She pretended to pout as she considered his point. "It'd be nice to pretend." Thane laughed once through his nose.

Zaeed's radio sprang to life. She didn't recognize the voice on the radio, but he seemed to, and she surmised that it must be the Santiago person they were after. He sounded like a nasty bastard, threatening to kill his own men if they so much as hesitated. That was hardly fair. They were, after all, a really scary bunch. She shook her head.

"Sounds like he needs to get shot," she stated seriously, lifting a red eyebrow higher.

"Glad you and I agree," he replied.

She couldn't say she was incredibly surprised by the knowledge he dropped on her next, though judging by the quick turn of his head Thane expected her to be. She wasn't angry. In fact, if she was going to be angry at anyone it would be the Illusive Man – again. When she was done with all this, if she survived all this, she wouldn't mind putting a bullet in _his_ head either. Smug bastard. Zaeed, on the other hand, she could understand. If she wanted to win someone's trust, she doubted her own gang history would be the first thing she'd mention.

"Why didn't anyone tell me you founded the Blue Suns?" she asked, her tone one of annoyance.

"Because it isn't common knowledge," Zaeed replied, in equal annoyance. He explained his story, that Vido had turned on him, teamed up with Batarian slavers, and eventually shot him. Her eyes jumped briefly to Thane at the mention of the Batarians, but he seemed as cool and collected as always. In fact, he was still watching her. She returned her gaze to Massani, shaking her head.

"You survived a gunshot to the head?" she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

"Yeah, and you survived your ship getting disintegrated," he pointed out. She lifted her chin. "A stubborn enough person can survive just about anything. Rage is a hell of an anesthetic."

She looked at him a long time, sizing him up. She hadn't realized until that moment how much they had in common, surviving impossible odds, betrayal, gangs, stubborn refusal to accept anything but victory. There may have even been something to the whole rage thing, though how much she wouldn't admit. Before, he had been just another merc to her. Now, she looked in his eyes and saw something of herself in them. She nodded at him, then turned to extend the bridge she had stopped to get his explanation.

"They know we're coming," he warned as another transmission came across his radio.

"Bring it on," she replied, cocking her weapon. "I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around."

They ran into the gatehouse, and found just the man they were looking for. Shepard had met plenty of smug assholes in her day, but she had to say, Santiago competed with the best of them. He obviously felt no remorse whatsoever for having turned on his old friend, for valuing money over his partner's life. She felt her blood beginning to boil the longer the conversation went on, and had Zaeed not stepped up to fire shots at the scumbag she might have done so herself. Massani took it off her hands. The explosion of the gas line was a smart move – she'd have to remember that.

What he did after, though, caught her offguard. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked when he started beating senselessly on a valve. She ducked behind cover, Thane behind her dodging bullets, while the vet continued without caring one bit what she said. She fell back against the drell when the pipe he had opened caused a series of explosions across the entire room, but Thane politely set her right and she was free to glare at Massani without embarrassment.

"Opening the gate," he finally answered, before the men and debris had even stopped falling down around them. She exited cover, annoyed but not quite furious. She didn't like him moving without her orders, sure, but she understood his rage. So she cut him some slack. She got in his face, without punching him the hell out.

"Next time you're gonna blow something up," she told him, her voice a warning, "I wanna know about it first." She stared him down, but he stared right back defiantly.

"Vido was confident," he replied, "He had a lot of men. Now he's lost the home field advantage. If we keep up the pressure, no way he's getting out of here alive."

She begrudgingly admitted to herself that it was an effective plan. All the same, "You don't make a move unless I know about it first," she told him. She didn't care what gang he used to lead, right now he was under _her_ command and she didn't like the rebellious blaze she saw in his off-colored eyes.

Zaeed's expression was cold as he gazed back at her. "This is my mission," he told her. "Remember that. I came here to kill Vido Santiago. If you want my help on your mission, you better make damn sure that happens today."

She quickly corrected him, lest he get the wrong idea. "I'm not saying I won't," she replied sharply. "I've only met him once and I already want to kill the bastard. But to get there, you need our help." She thumbed between herself and Thane. "So follow my orders, and we'll take down Vido. Deal?"

He looked between her and Thane, before waving her off. "I don't care what else happens, as long as Vido swallows a bullet."

She nodded, taking that as a sign he would follow her command, and then she moved out. Behind her, Thane raised an eye ridge high on his forehead, but said nothing.

The facility was crumbling down around them as they moved through the gate. Apparently whatever Zaeed had done had caused explosions all over the place, not just in the room they had been in. She didn't even stop to wonder if he knew the consequences of his actions when he blew the valve; for now, that didn't really matter. Blue Suns, the ones that had survived the blast, were doing their best to stop their forward progress, and between their bullets, falling beams, and fire blasting out of grates and pipes at every turn, she had her hands full. She was never so glad to get to the walkway on the other side of the small building, where the air didn't smell like gasoline and feel like it was roasting her alive. She inhaled deeply.

A frantic voice pulled her out of her brief relief. She narrowed her eyes, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at a man running out onto a catwalk overhead. He was unarmed, so she didn't pull her weapon, and because he wasn't wearing the tradition blue and white armor of the Suns she surmised that he must be a worker in the facility. Maybe he had information as to Vido's location, she thought, but that was before the man started shouting frantically for help. Zaeed's explosions had trapped them inside with no way out. Her eyebrows knit together.

"No time," Zaeed announced, "Vido's probably halfway to the shuttle docks by now."

The crease between her eyebrows deepened. "You'd let them die to get even with Vido?" she asked.

"They're not my concern," he replied callously. "Vido is."

She studied him. "I get why you want Vido dead, but is killing him really worth watching innocent people burn to death?"

Zaeed's impatience was increasing, and his voice rose. "I'm not sticking around to watch! We stop to help these people, and Vido gets away! And if he gets away, I'm blaming you."

She stared at him a long time, too long. She could understand his anger like it was her own. She hadn't hesitated to kill an entire colony of innocents to save the military establishment on the same planet. She had let fellow Marines die to win the battle at Torfan. She sacrificed Ashley to save herself. Was this any different? It seemed somehow wrong to deny him what he wanted, after everything she had done over the years. It was like denying herself.

But she never got the chance to make that call. As her indecision dragged on, she heard the scrape of a leather boot on metal grating, and turned to see Thane had already vaulted over the railing towards the building with the miners. Her mouth fell open, and she stared after him in shock. What the hell was he thinking? He was going to take on the entire building by himself? There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he would get out of there alive, and she suddenly found her decision made for her.

It was easy to risk the lives of nameless people she had never met; Thane was different. He shouldn't have been. He was just another member of her crew, and if he insisted on deliberately making decisions for her he was probably more trouble than he was worth. But something tugged at her gut. She couldn't imagine taking on the Collectors without him. She needed him. She ground her teeth. She had no choice.

"We're not letting those people die so you can get a twenty year old debt off your chest," she said to Zaeed, ignoring the warmth in her cheeks that told her she was blushing at Thane's intervention. She had _never_ been second guessed during battle the way he had just done, and she felt more than a little idiotic that he had done it in front of someone like Zaeed, a fellow leader just like herself. "Let's go," she ordered, climbing over the railing herself to follow – ugh, _follow_ – after Thane.

"I knew this was a mistake," Zaeed mumbled after her, and her flush flared deeply. She felt more humiliated than she had since she was in boot camp. If they survived this, she was giving that damn drell a piece of her mind!

The facility was even worse than the last building had been. Flames crept up the walls, and even the grating they walked on fell through or exploded upwards as they ran by. They hadn't been in the place ten seconds before her suit was saturated, and her breath became painful. She literally felt like she was baking inside her own suit.

"Here!" Thane called, at the far end of the room, and she ran to his side.

"The doors won't open until the fires are out!" the miners yelled through the safety glass that separated them, and she turned her eyes to the ceiling.

"Sprinkler system," she said succinctly, pointing to the lines. "If we can turn off the fuel lines, we can put the fires out. There must be control panels. Split up. Find them." Despite his hesitation before, Zaeed did as he was told, and they all went in different directions at a jog. A metal panel blew off to her right as she came upon a narrow walkway. She dropped to the floor instinctively and the fatal missile careened over her, nearly taking her head with it. It skittered to a stop on the other side of the room, and she took a moment to steady her nerves. One obligatory near-death experience, check.

"Shepard?" Thane's voice echoed anxiously nearby.

"Fine," she replied, standing again. She rushed to the console she had been after before, setting her rifle down next to her. A few clicks and she quickly figured out how to reroute the fuel, and did so. "This one's done."

To her left, Thane hopped easily over a nearby barrier. "This one, as well," he announced. They turned their eyes to Zaeed, who pushed a button on his console. Without a word, he nodded. Thane's black eyes spotted a nearby room first, and he pointed. "There." They both rushed inside.

Together, they bent over what looked like a master safety systems control panel. They finally found the fire prevention measures and jointly set about starting them up. At last, the pipes overhead creaked to life and she looked up into the falling water gratefully. The air immediately began to cool against her burning cheeks. She was never so glad for any rain she had ever felt as this synthetic shower.

The fires slowly began to die down, finally faltering into steam memories of the former blazes, and at long last the safety doors opened. She felt her heart slow gratefully. "Good work," Thane said. Inside, she agreed with him. It _was_ good work, but they still had a job to do.

"Let's go," she ordered.

Vido had ordered a last stitch effort against them, and they were well prepared. It was only through Zaeed's quick thinking and Thane's sharp aim that they even survived the brutal onslaught he had left in his wake. Together they dislodged fuel tanks from the ceiling, taking out the Blue Suns henchmen en masse. Worse for wear, but alive, they rushed out onto the shuttle docks outside. Much to her own dismay, Vido Santiago was already boarded, and laughed as he began to fly away.

She watched Zaeed with a restrained expression as he blew an entire thermal clip trying to shoot the shuttle down with an assault rifle. To say she felt responsible for his ineffective attack would have been an understatement. She wasn't surprised in the least when he rounded on her, furious as she would have been. She was only glad he was out of clips; if it had been her, she would have already been shooting.

"You just cost me twenty years of my life!"

She felt like her stomach had been packed with ice as she watched the fury change his face. Truthfully, she couldn't blame the man one tiny little bit. She knew exactly what he was going through. He was trapped in his own head with his pain and his rage. No matter what else he did, no matter what was _really_ around him, in his mind a clock ticktocked a singsong reminder of what had been done to him. _He betrayed you. He shot you. He left you for dead._ Every touch would feel like the hands that held him down. Every loud pop sounded like the gunshot that had tore through his brain. Every pair of black eyes were _his_, staring unfeelingly as he said things that would never leave him.

She knew his pain, and she clenched her jaw as she saw it consume him. In that moment, she felt as responsible as Vido.

And in turn, she stubbornly refused to look at Thane.

* * *

She was, in a word, furious. She had remained silent during the long flight to the Normandy, with Zaeed staring stubbornly out the window and Thane resting his head against the wall, eyes closed, as if meditating. The longer the silence went on, the more angry she got, and by the time they got to the ship she was practically bursting at the seams.

She marched down to Life Support still in her hardsuit. She hadn't yet changed out of it because she and Zaeed had been conducting the shouting match of the century down in the lower decks before she came here. When there was no changing the mercenary's mind, she had turned her attentions to the cause of it all, and it didn't matter that the entire crew along the way saw her stalking through the ship with the expression of a mama bear on the prowl.

She moved into Life Support without invitation, her footsteps heavy and menacing on the metal floors. She pulled even with Thane at his table and stared at him for a moment, drawing in a long breath. And then, the upbraiding began.

"Where the hell do you get off?" she asked, her volume several notches above polite. "You could have endangered the entire team with your bullshit. Since when do you think you can get away with crap like that?"

She paced angrily back and forth like a lion in a cage as she raged, gesturing emphatically. "This is _my_ ship, and we play by my rules. The chain of authority is in place for a reason, and it's a damn good one, so if you can't handle that you can get off at the next stop." She paused, shaking her head.

"I don't need people around me who think my orders only apply when they like what I have to say, and this mission is too critical to put up with insubordination. In the line of fire!" She stopped in her pacing long enough to look at him intensely, her eyes widening as she threw her hands up to either side of her.

"That miner could have been armed, a ploy from the Blue Suns, anything! The entire place was a ticking time bomb! We didn't have _time_ for you to decide _you're_ the one in charge!"

He hadn't even looked up from his meditation, but she continued unphased. "I thought you were smarter than that, Thane. I thought you got it. You always fit so seamlessly into the team, and you _never_ questioned my orders. And now this? What were you thinking?"

She rounded on him, finally ready for his input, but he gave none. He had barely moved during her speech, except to place his hands down onto the table. The longer he sat there without answering for himself, the more pissed she got, and at last she walked around to the other side of the table where he was staring, blocking his view. She slapped her hands angrily down on either side of his and met his gaze, demanding his attention. "Well?"

"I am not sure my actions on Zorya count as rebellion," he admitted, gesturing lightly with his webbed fingers. "The Shepard I have come to know would never let the revenge of one take precedent over the lives of many, particularly when she is working so hard to save them by defeating the Collectors." He paused, considering, before continuing. "In principle, I may have acted without your direct orders, but I did not act without your _influence_."

She felt the sting of his words without allowing it to show on her features, except for a rapid blinking of her eyelids. The tattle-tale voice in the back of her mind reminded her she had almost done just that. None of those miners could help her fight the Collectors. Zaeed could. She had at the very least considered chocking them all up to a casualty of war, and now they would never know which path she would have finally settled on. He seemed confident she would have chosen to spare the miners. She wasn't so sure, but she didn't say so aloud. What was the point of fighting the Collectors if she traded lives so casually? She was almost ashamed of herself. Almost.

"Is this your idea of an apology?" she asked, waving a hand at him. "Because it's not a very good one."

"No," he responded. "My intentions were pure. I have no reason to apologize."

She glared at him for his audacity. "You're not going to apologize because your heart was in the right place?" Before waiting to hear his response, she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. "Your drell beliefs don't hold water on my ship, Krios. When I order you to do something, I expect you to do it – body, soul, whatever!"

"If you had ordered me to leave the miners, I would have done so," he replied succinctly. "I would have felt no guilt for their deaths. The decision was yours, and so the guilt would have been." He looked at her, and for a moment she dithered in complete confusion. What was the _problem_ then?

"But they would not have been your orders," he explained, gesturing with perfect calm, a calm that annoyed her to no end in the face of her anger. "They would have been Massani's."

She stood slowly, letting his words sink in. She looked at him a long time, before crossing her arms defensively. She didn't want to admit it but part of her already knew he had a point. She still didn't like his methods.

"So what, you were saving me from myself?" she asked, her sarcasm thick.

"No," he immediately disagreed. "I was saving you from apathy." He suddenly stood, pacing slowly towards the door to Life Support, as if the motion would help him gather his thoughts. Behind him, she watched, an old gut feeling telling her something really bad was about to happen. It was the feeling she got before a heavy mech unloaded a round of bullets on her, or a horde of husks appeared out of nowhere. It had no place in this conversation, but she felt it all the same.

He turned back to her when he reached the other end of the room, and returned her gaze for a long moment, blinking both eyelids. At last, he spoke. "You have been different since the Citadel." He looked down at the ground. "You have not asked about Kolyat. You have not taken your meals in the mess hall. You turned Doctor Chakwas away when she came to speak with you." He paused before concluding, "You have changed."

A crease appeared between her eyebrows, and she quickly jumped to deflect his accusations. "Are you saying you did this because you missed me?"

"I..." He blinked, caught off guard by the question. His eye ridges pulled together, and he looked away. "I did 'miss you,'" he finally continued, using her words, "but my actions on Zorya were not about me." He lifted his gaze back to her, his confidence shaken but returning.

She shrugged one shoulder, shifting all her weight onto one foot. "Still managed to have the desired effect. I'm here. We're talking. Isn't that what you wanted?"

He again looked away. "Yes," he admitted. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I acted more selfishly than I realized."

She seemed to have ignited something in him, because he began to pace again in earnest, his hands held tightly behind his back and his footsteps quick. The feeling of dread rose up in her again at his anxiety, stronger than before, but she beat it down again. The battlefield was an appropriate place for that kind of nervousness. A conversation with her crewmate was _not_ the proper place.

He stopped suddenly in his pacing, facing the door and away from her. He turned his head slightly, so that his voice could carry over his shoulder. "Commander Alenko wished to follow after you, on the Citadel. But I stopped him."

Her head reeled like she had been punched in the face herself. What the hell? Kaidan had tried to follow her? And Thane had stopped him? Why? She blinked rapidly, not even realizing that Thane had turned to watch her as the reactions played across her face like actors on center stage. Her feelings were such a jumble, though, that it was hard to determine one from the other. And oddly enough, she had more questions about why Thane had interfered than she had about what Kaidan was doing following after her. Perhaps it was just because by now Kaidan's betrayal was an old one. Thane's, though, felt brand new and doubly scary.

"Why are you telling me this now?" she asked, the only question that made it to her mouth out of the dozens that formed in her head.

He tilted his chin slightly, humbly. "I would wish to be always honest with you."

She felt her brow darkening even though she couldn't see it, and her next question formed again without her conscious effort. "Why?" she asked – not about his honesty, but about Kaidan. He seemed to understand that.

He lowered his eyes again, his face thoughtful as if he didn't know the answer himself. "I had thought I was protecting you from his influence," he replied, standing upright once more. "When Irikah died, I lost myself to her memories. I hunted, I prayed, and I remembered, but the world passed me by. My son grew up without me. I was effective, but I was not alive. I... feared that you would have done the same with whatever remained of your feelings for Alenko."

He lowered his head, his expression humble. "I hoped to save you from your battle-sleep," he admitted, "but I have failed."

She felt her teeth gritting at more of his drell bullshit. "I'm not you, Thane," she told him, her voice icy.

"No," he agreed, unerringly civil, "but we are more alike than you realize."

She shook her head. "I'm not holed up on my own, the way you were. I'm going after the Collectors," she pointed out. "I'm saving the galaxy."

"And I returned to my contracts," he replied, as if her point was not against him but for him. "You once told me you had a hard time leaving behind the life you lost, though you had another waiting for you. I had, as well. I could have been a father to my son, but I didn't. I returned to the way I existed before I met Irikah. You have done the same."

She uncrossed her arms to point at him angrily. "You weren't around then. Don't pretend you know me."

"I don't have to," he easily responded. "I know myself."

She shook her head quickly. "I'm not in any battle-sleep!" she argued.

He looked at her for a moment, before his eyes zoned out. She realized he was escaping into a memory a moment before he began to speak, and then his words flowed over her like a river, unstoppable.

"Widow heavy in my hands. Breath short, painful. The smell of gunfire thick on the air. Red armor flashes, foosteps quick and heavy. The sound of flesh bruising as she slams her hands into the other woman. Green eyes flash angrily against a brown pair. 'What the Hell is your problem?' she asks. She is angry, frightened."

He turned his head, and she knew he was shifting to another memory. "Brown eyes sad, distant. Tattooed skin shifts as she looks down at the shield module. Her shoulders slump. She looks up, and her look hardens. 'What the fuck are you looking at?' she asks."

Her eyebrows lifted. Jack had looked sad? She never knew she had any effect all on the younger woman. She had been a bit less of a brat, perhaps, but she just assumed she had put the fear of God into her. She figured she was just too scared to piss her leader off again. Her expression turned uncertain as she realized it had been ages since she visited Jack – or anyone. Not since she had left the Citadel, and returned to her 'old self.'

Thane didn't pause before he shifted into another memory. This time, his tone was different, colored somehow by an emotion she didn't identify. "Fire rages all around. His two-tone eyes shift coldly in his face. Explosions shake the floor. She moves, her emerald eyes calculating. 'Next time you're gonna blow something up, I wanna know about it first,' she says. Her voice is restrained, careful – methodical. She doesn't yell. She waits."

She winced, looking away from him. The juxtaposition between the two scenes was obvious and didn't paint her in a very kind light. Suddenly, her own memories of both events caught up with her and overwhelmed her. She remembered exactly what she felt when Jack went crazy on the mercs. He had described it right. She had been incredibly angry, because she had been so afraid – for Jack and for Thane. She was furious, but not because the other woman hadn't followed orders. She was furious because Jack had put herself – and the rest of the team – in danger. The difference was obvious when she examined her feelings about Zaeed's rebellion.

Then, she had been annoyed because he had acted without warning. He had put the team in just as much, if not more danger than Jack had, but she had allowed it. She had even admired it's _efficiency._ She considered dully whether she would have been upset if Thane or Zaeed had been killed during the mission, and she realized with no undue amount of shame that she would have only been upset because her fight with the Collectors would have been all the harder – not because she had lost friends. She wouldn't have felt what she did when Ashley died, but the way she felt when Jenkins died.

_You wanted Commander Shepard?_ She heard her words to Miranda, echoing inside her own head. _You got her_.

But was she still that woman? She had been when she started to chase Saren. The Alliance and eventually the Council picked her because of her singular dedication to the mission, her ability to make the difficult choices that can't go down on record. She could do those things, make those choices, because she had always been forced to anyway. She never had anyone looking out for her on the surface of Earth. To survive, she made the tough calls. Her mother's abandonment defined her.

After Saren, she didn't know who that woman was anymore. She had other things to define her. Anderson's faith, Garrus's respect, Liara's steady friendship, and yes, Kaidan's love. She had always been defined by the things she was _missing_, but after Saren she was defined by the things she _had._

Until she lost them. Not all of them, not really. If she looked at it honestly, Anderson still believed in her. Garrus still looked up to her, though he was a leader of his own right. Liara had stopped at nothing to bring her back from the dead. The only thing she had lost, the only pillar of her strength that had crumbled, was Kaidan's love.

But it reopened an old sore. She had loved two people in her life, and both of them had just _decided _of their own accord _not_ to love her anymore. She could ask why and torture herself for years, or she could just accept it, come to terms with it, and ignore it. It was easier to put up the old walls and retreat back into her cold soldiering. It was _not_ easy to look into Thane's eyes and see herself reflected back, a weaker creature than he believed her to be. She shook her head.

"How?" she asked simply as she looked at Thane. It was a rare occasion when she asked for guidance, even more rarely that she did so with the complete humility that now etched her sharp features. "How did you pull yourself out of it?"

He hesitated, watching her carefully. "You woke me up."

One corner of her mouth pulled back bitterly. "If only I could do the same for myself."

He straightened as he looked at her, his chest lifting and his gaze serious. He considered her. "Not everyone leaves, Shepard."

She blinked. Man, he _really_ knew how to cut to the root of the problem. She clenched her jaw as she felt the old insecurity begin to bubble up again, shutting it down before it got too far. "No," she agreed, her voice tight. "They just leave me."

His response was instantaneous. "They're idiots."

She stared at him, before a laugh jumped unbidden to her lips. It just sounded so _ridiculous_. She had never heard Thane say anything more insulting than 'hello' the entire time he had been on the Normandy. The perfect disdain in his voice, the quickness of the response, and the simple message it conveyed all culminated in one pathetic reaction: laughter. She couldn't stop herself, and before long what had been a bitter expression at the start became genuinely amused. She shook her head at herself as her mirth finally died down. Was that what it felt like to be hysterical?

"I'm sorry," she apologized, and then she gestured, encompassing the room. "For everything. I..." She struggled to find the words to properly thank him for knowing her better than she knew herself. She finally settled on, "I appreciate you looking out for me."

He bowed from the waist, and she almost started laughing again at his... Thane-ness, but she controlled herself this time. For a long while she struggled with an emotion she wasn't sure how to convey, or if there were even words in the English language that would. She at last spoke. "Please don't judge me too harshly, for letting apathy get the better of me." She waited. It had been a long time since she cared this much what another person thought of her, but she knew she couldn't leave Life Support until Thane forgave her.

"You needn't worry," he replied. "I... have come to admire you. There is little chance of my judging you very harshly for anything."

She didn't think she deserved it, but she nodded gratefully anyway. "So you don't blame me for my stupidity? Is that some kind of drell thing?" she asked. It was a lame attempt to lighten the mood, and atone for her remarks earlier which now seemed almost xenophobic.

He smirked lightly, his expression amused. "No," he replied, copying her tone, "It's a 'Shepard thing,'"

Her smile was wide and genuine as she replied. "I don't know if I'd trust me with a blank check, but thanks."

"I trust you implicitly," he replied without hesitation.

Her eyebrows rose. "Brave man," she commended.

"Hardly," he waved the compliment away with a shake of his head. "Only certain."

She looked at him for a moment before lowering her eyes to the ground. She had been about to respond to his unfailing trust, something she was sure she didn't deserve, when it occurred to her that she quite simply didn't have the energy. "I should go," she said, pushing off from the wall behind her.

He nodded. "I'll be here if you need me."

She returned the nod. "I believe it."


	11. Invincible

She knocked lightly on the door, though she knew it would slide habitually open as soon as she did. She shifted a mug out of the crook of one elbow, where she had stashed it. "Knock, knock," she announced politely, hovering near the door until Thane motioned her in. He did so, waving over his shoulder.

"Come in, Shepard," he encouraged.

"Brought you tea," she offered as she approached, setting a mug down in front of him. She had sought out Gardner, the Mess Sergeant, to find out what she should bring him, and he'd said the drell had specifically brought the tea along with him and instructed the cook how to prepare it. He took a mug every day. She saw the opportunity for brownie points, which she was in desperate need of after their fight the other day. "Mind if I sit down?" she asked.

"Not at all," he replied. "Thank you for the tea."

"Don't mention it," she replied, waving the statement away. She looked oddly sheepish for a moment. This was the third such visit she had made, but she was starting to think that no matter how many times she visited him she would still feel a bit awkward over the whole thing. He seemed completely at ease, which was handy because generally it annoyed her enough to snap her out of her nervousness and get her talking.

This time, it got her to pay attention to her tea. She figured she would try it, since Thane thought it was so good. She wasn't expecting anything great, but at least she could say she had made the effort to expand her horizons a little. Then she could put off trying anything new again for another six months or so. She raised the mug to her lips and took a swig.

And nearly choked. She coughed at the strong, earthy taste, covering her mouth with her forearm as her eyes watered. "Good God!" she said when she could speak, setting the mug down heavily. Thane, however, smirked at her in amusement.

"It takes some getting used to," he warned her belatedly, even as she struggled to get control of her coughs.

"No kidding," she replied, tapping her chest lightly. Well, so much for that idea. She crossed her arms on top of the table with the intent of ignoring the drink, but Thane set his own mug down determinedly. He reached across the table and pulled her hands back around the mug.

"Go slower," he instructed, pressing her to lift the mug to her lips again. "Inhale." He took his own mug and demonstrated, lifting it just beneath his nose. She hesitantly copied him, breathing in the smell of the tea – apparently, not to his satisfaction. "Close your eyes," he instructed, and she did so, taking another deeper breath.

The tea had an incredibly pungent odor, one she couldn't place but which was probably closest to moist earth or tree bark back on Earth, mixed with something heavy and smokey like tobacco leaves, and a clear, bright scent like menthol or mint. She tried to distinguish all the subtle influences but they were foreign to her, mere imitations of things she knew. After a few breaths she realized that the combination wasn't all that unpleasant, and her breathing became distinctly easier, fuller. She opened her eyes gradually.

"Now, take a sip, slowly," he instructed. She did so, glancing at him over the top of her mug as she went. The effect of the drink was distinctly different this time, and though the taste was still strong she had got to know it better now and wasn't taken by surprise. She thoughtfully considered the texture of the drink as she swallowed, like lightweight liquid sandpaper, pulpy but not with any pulp she had ever tasted before. The warmth and vapor of the drink opened her airways all the way to her chest, and she breathed in deeply at the effects.

She understood now why he drank it – medicinal, rather than just taste. Her green eyes jumped up to his but swiftly lowered back to the table as she set the mug back down. She didn't offer any opinion on it. Truthfully, after considering his reasons for drinking it in the first place she found she didn't have anything at all to say about it.

He set his mug down as well, mirroring her actions, and because he was too polite to broach a subject she didn't want to discuss the silence between them lengthened.

She was the first to come up with a topic to break it. "We're on our way to Omega," she offered, lifting her cup to her mouth for another lengthy sip. He nodded at her, leaving his own mug untouched.

"What takes us there?" he asked.

"Samara," she explained. "There's a criminal there she's been chasing down for nearly four hundred years." Her eyes slid away and she considered her words, before adding, "Actually, I came here to ask your help with that."

He tilted his head to the side curiously. "I'm happy to help," he began. "What are the details?"

"Samara's case is... sensitive," she explained, looking Thane right in the eye. "The criminal Samara's searching for is her daughter."

Thane blinked, his chin lifting as he took the information in. Shepard continued, "She's powerful and incredibly dangerous. I have a feeling this mission will require both delicacy and stealth." She tilted her head in his direction. "Fortes of yours." He bent his head in acknowledgment of the compliment.

"Besides," she added, perhaps more to justify her actions to herself than to him. "While Garrus might know his way around better, I have a feeling we're going to be dealing with Aria during all this. She would figure out who he is in a second, and that's not information I want her to have. You, she doesn't know anything about." She shrugged. "You're an ace up my sleeve."

"I understand," he replied. "Does her daughter know we're coming?"

"I don't think so. But she must be damn good to have avoided Samara all these years. I have a feeling things are going to get dicey." She looked down into her reflection in her tea before continuing, "That's another reason I'd like to bring you along." She gestured at him, lifting her gaze. "I trust you to keep me in line, if I need it."

His response was quick. "You do not need me for that."

She studied him, before a small smile made itself known on her lips. "No, I don't _need_ you to," she assented. "I want you to." He recognized his own words and blinked silently. Then he nodded in agreement. She returned the nod. "We should be there in a few hours," she said. And then she blew into her tea to cool it.

His eyes betrayed his amusement as he watched her struggle with a sip of the hot beverage. "You do not have to drink it, if you do not wish," he told her.

She glanced down at the drink. "It's not so bad," she shrugged, then motioned toward him, mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Drell customs are an acquired taste."

He smirked. "As are human customs."

"Oh?" she asked, brought to a halt. She didn't think of her own habits as foreign, so she was suddenly curious. "Such as?"

"Teasing," he quickly replied.

She raised her chin knowingly, an amused, "Ah," escaping her. She stood with her mug in hand. "You'll learn to love it," she replied simply, before letting herself out of the room.

Behind her, Thane's grin simmered back down into a smirk, and he looked down into his mug. He lifted it before his lips, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. Aromas stole over his senses – ila leaves, uhwo berries, ozaxi bark, and the pale scent of an alien flower he did not recognize but had come to know very well.

* * *

She felt absurd in this outfit. Her pants were low-slung and skin tight and these boots had stiletto heels. _Stilettos_. Why anyone had invented a heel this sharp for _walking on_ completely evaded her; clearly boots like these were made for kicking, not walking. She adjusted the top uncomfortably, a high-collared number that nevertheless jutted low between her breasts, leaving her feeling exposed and... well, a bit drafty, if she was honest.

"I don't know how you wear stuff like this," she said to Thane as they approached Afterlife's VIP. He merely blinked over at her as if he had never compared the two.

"I don't think it's quite the same," he replied. Shepard hid her smirk on the far side of her face.

"Samara said she would meet us outside of the VIP doors," she said as she glanced around. Thane would know the shadows better than she would, but as their gazes darted around, it turned out that her perceptiveness was the one to save them.

"Shit," she said beneath her breath. Thane's gaze jumped to hers and immediately tried to follow her line of sight. "It's Aria," she explained as the asari wandered nearer. She took a delicate step to one side, pitting Thane between her and their newest obstacle. "Let's hope she doesn't recognize me."

The assassin glanced over his shoulder before returning his gaze to his commander. She was too busy watching Aria around his shoulder to see the calculating expression on his features.

"Do you trust me, Shepard?"

She barely even glanced up at him. "Of course," she replied automatically, before she suddenly glanced back at up him warily. "Unless you're going to put me to sleep again."

One corner of Thane's mouth twitched back, but he made no such move. Instead, he reached for her waist, his hand coasting over the bared midriff before he guided her backwards with quiet pressure. She bumped into the alley wall behind her as he kept moving, lithely, seductively. He placed his elbow on the wall above them, his bicep blocking out the light from the nearby neons, and then he lifted his opposite hand to cup her cheek. He tilted his head downward, his body hovering, a perfect cocoon of drell assassin that blocked Omega out of existence.

"As an assassin I have learned how to hide in plain sight," he explained. She could have sworn she could _feel_ the rumble of his graveled voice, so close was he, but perhaps she was only imagining things. There was a perfectly appropriate space between their bodies and their mouths, and their arrangement simply gave the _illusion_ of impropriety while advantageously blocking her from sight.

"I got into the wrong business," she quipped. His expression lightened, his gaze dropping down her features in a way that made her heart do something funny. He was probably just scanning her for truth in her words, the way people do when speaking, but from this distance it simply felt like it carried more weight.

"Is this a tactic you use often?" she asked. It didn't even occur to her she might sound jealous.

"Yes," he replied honestly. She blinked in surprise, but then he continued, "But usually not with such a pleasant partner."

She buried a smile in a downward expression. "I bet you say that to all your cover."

"My cover?" he replied. "No. Speaking would give them the opportunity to hear my voice, know my face."

She paused before lifting her gaze curiously. If he got this close with his cover and didn't _talk_ to them... Her eyes jumped to his lips again involuntarily.

"She is gone." Samara's smooth voice had never been so jarring. Thane fell back immediately, breaking the 'cocoon of drell' and admitting the Omega nightlife once more. Shepard smoothed her hands down her thighs to get herself back together and nodded once.

"Okay. Let's go."

* * *

The doors closed behind her with finality, and she let her green stare sweep slowly across the room. The VIP section didn't look wholly different from the rest of the club, and she wondered what was so great about it. A little less crowded, perhaps, or maybe the exclusivity was like a drug itself. She didn't know. She only knew that her impression of the club was hardly increased for having seen the lowest level.

Far across the room, in a nook no one in the entire bar seemed to notice, two pairs of eyes watched Shepard work – one as light as snow, the other as dark as the soil hidden beneath it. The light pair seemed cool, collected; her emotions had long ago been shut down to give herself the freedom to act now without hesitation. The darker pair looked a little more intent. His brow was motionless and his stare unblinking.

Morinth eyed Shepard like a prize steak served up on a platter. When she approached she did so the way a leopard hunts; slow, perhaps, but hardly innocent. When they settled on the couch she inched close to Shepard, leaning sultrily. She pushed a strand of Shepard's hair behind her ear as they talked, left her hand sitting idly on the other woman's shoulder, and then later, when the Ardat-Yakshi tilted her head as if to whisper into Shepard's ear, her hand fell to the Commander's thigh. He shifted his weight.

As promised, Shepard finally stood from the booth. The victorious look on Morinth's face told him they were ready to move. The asari draped her arm suggestively around the Commander's hips, just above her bottom, and guided both of them through the doors of the club. At long last, Thane exhaled.

"I do not like this," he announced.

"Nor do I," Samara replied coolly, "But we must trust in Shepard."

He looked at the justicar, who was watching him, and nodded his head once.

* * *

"Come join me." Morinth's voice had the same lustrous quality as her mothers, but the way they wielded it was different. Samara's tone was like water breaking easily around whatever it might have otherwise troubled. Morinth's was like wind that made you blink. Shepard falsified a smirk over her shoulder.

"Good things come to those who wait," she replied, forcing a tease into her voice.

Morinth, tired of waiting, slunk across the room towards her. She slipped her arm around Shepard's waist, staring into her green eyes. "Are you nervous?" she asked knowingly, and Shepard breathed in deeply, trying to figure out how to answer.

"I've never been with an asari before," she admitted.

The asari smirked. "Don't be nervous," she said. "I'll be gentle." She ran her hand down the back of Shepard's arm, intertwining their fingers together. She retreated, pulling Shepard with her by the tips of her fingers braided with the commander's.

"We're alike, you and I," she said, eyes predatory, as the pair of them settled onto the couch. "I can see it in the way you look at me. Neither of us like the comfort of safety." She let her eyes travel down Shepard's body, before returning to her eyes. "We like the danger."

"Your own, or someone else's?" Shepard found herself asking without thinking. Morinth was taken back by the question, particularly the accusatory tone that accompanied it. She shrugged one shoulder.

"Both, I imagine." She narrowed her gaze. "Think back to the last thing you _really_ wanted. Did it matter who got in your way?"

Quite without her consent, Shepard found sharp, realistic imaginings distracting her from her mission – fragments of a scene that had never happened and which didn't make much sense. She could feel a foreign touch creeping up the divot in her back, wet with sweat. She felt the rumble of a foreign voice against her neck, sending shivers across her skin. She felt the press of an unusual body against her own, but the alien quality only spurred her heartbeat faster.

"I can give you that," Morinth's voice interrupted, her pale eyes promising everything her words left between the lines. "The danger, the risk... the thrill. Open your mind to me, Shepard. I know you want this." Her eyes turned black and Shepard felt the fringes of her awareness start to blur into the other woman's, felt her sense of individuality slipping. Morinth whispered against her lips. "Embrace eternity."

But something about those black eyes alarmed her. Something tickled her memory as she looked at them, even as her consciousness blended further with the other woman's. It was a struggle to bring it forward, the eyes, something about the color, the shape. They were wrong – similar, but wrong. And suddenly, the asari's spell fell through completely, and she gasped as her own _awareness_ snapped back to her like a rubber band that had been stretched too far.

She pulled away from the woman, her voice hard. "I'm not the victim you were hoping for."

Morinth's eyes turned back to normal as she stared in shock at her, and then Shepard's soul soared as Samara burst into the room followed quickly by Thane. From there, the Justicar took over.

The display of biotics between the two was terrifying as they battled within the apartment. Furniture flew from the sheer force of their power, and Shepard felt the hair stand up on her skin every time a biotic attack flew by her. A lamp shot towards her, but burst before it could hit her; Thane suddenly appeared at her side, a biotic field dissipating around his hand. She lowered the ineffective arm she had raised to block the lamp, and watched, impressed, as mother and daughter dueled until they seemed caught in a stalemate, neither able to let down her biotic field and both vying for aid.

Morinth's pale eyes sparked with a combination of disgust for her mother and true fear for her life. She turned her attention to Shepard. "I'm as strong as she is," she begged. "Let me join you."

Samara deflected her words. "I am already sworn to help you Shepard. Let us finish this."

"Can you trust a woman who would kill her own daughter?" Morinth replied, turning her gaze halfway to Shepard. "She never even offered me an alternative, except imprisonment. I could have joined her, been an assassin for my people, a dangerous weapon. She _wants_ this." She sent a biotic pulse her mother's way, and Samara shifted onto her back foot before regaining her strength.

"She is a killer!" Samara argued. "She would trade the lives of thousands for her own freedom!"

"How many have _you_ killed, _Mother?_" the asari asked, falling back a moment under Samara's anger and power. "I am not the monster she thinks I am, Shepard. Let me be _your_ assassin."

She stared at the Ardat-Yakshi, her head swimming. Why _hadn't_ the asari put her unique powers to work? Asari could attract anyone, and she didn't need weapons. She could get in anywhere, kill anyone, without the world being the wiser. She would be deadly effective, more powerful than any commando group. The asari only wanted to take away her freedom, punish her for something she could not control.

And yet, the woman she had seen in action tonight was not in the least sorry for her actions. She killed without regret, even wished to keep her victim sober through what was supposed to be an absolutely excruciating experience. She could justify wanting to be free, but how could she condone _that_?

She was broken out of her circular thoughts when a light touch fell onto the small of her back. She turned to find Thane had come closer. His expression was perfectly neutral as he looked into her eyes. He wasn't making the choice for her. He was only stating his support. She stared between his black eyes for a moment, before turning her gaze back to Morinth.

"I already have my assassin, thanks," she stated as she marched forward She grabbed the asari's arm and wrenched it back, breaking her biotic field.

Samara did not hesitate. Despite knowing that Morinth was one of the most dangerous people she had ever met, there was still something gut wrenching about watching a mother kill her daughter. The biotic burst she sent through her daughter's skull smashed it into the floor with a resounding crunch that twisted the mind. She looked away, unable to stand the sight of the asari's oddly colored blood spilling out onto the floor around her head like a halo. When she at last turned her eyes back to Samara, the Justicar was standing from her kill, her shoulders and heart heavy.

"Samara," she offered lamely, no idea what to say. The Asari turned her tired eyes onto her Commander.

"There are no words, Shepard," the Asari replied with grace, letting her off the hook. "Have mercy on a broken warrior and let us leave this place."

She nodded, allowing the Justicar to lead the way out of the building, before turning to follow. But Thane blocked her way. She was surprised, uncertain, but he simply lifted a hand to her upper arm and squeezed. She was relieved, glad that she didn't have to try to comfort anyone else, or explain what she was feeling, or why she had chosen him to come. It seemed he knew all that. She returned the touch as a sign of gratitude, nodding her head, and then she followed Samara out the door and the assassin followed after.

* * *

Back on the Normandy, the Justicar made her apologies and retreated to her observation room to meditate. Behind, Thane turned his eyes towards her. "Shepard," he asked, "will you join me?" She followed his gesture towards Life Support and nodded, eager for the chance to decompress after a hard mission. The doors to the room closed behind him, and she breathed in deeply of the silence within. Being with Thane felt nearly as comfortable as being alone these days.

He moved towards the window looking out over the arc reactor, but did not sit. He stood, and watched the arcs fly by. "You were right to help Samara," he told her, voice steady. She offered a weak huff in return.

"Doesn't feel like it," she admitted as she crossed the room to where he was. She leaned her back against the wall next to his window, looking back into Life Support for her distraction. "I agree that Morinth had to be stopped, but killed by her own mother?" She shook her head. "Doesn't seem right."

"She was too strong to be killed by any other means," he reasoned. "Samara had long ago come to terms with what she felt she had to do."

She knew he was right, but she shrugged anyway, studying the floor. "Maybe part of me thinks Morinth had a point." She lifted her eyes to Thane, her voice direct. "You would never kill Kolyat."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps not," he conceded, "but I was just as responsible for Kolyat's desire to kill as Samara was for Morinth's. If I did not stop my son from killing, would I not also be responsible for the deaths he caused?"

She looked at him a moment, but she no longer knew what she thought was right or wrong thanks to his drell ideas mixing things up. "What do you think?" she asked.

He considered the problem thoughtfully. "I think my son is an innocent, and Morinth is not. Her biology gave her the ability to kill, but she decided to use it. Kolyat took a contract to kill. The decision was never his. The decision to take the contract was my fault."

She tilted her head curiously, and suddenly it occurred to her that she had no idea how the drell perceived _her_. She had told him more about her past than almost anyone, and of everyone could probably offer the best perspective of her actions. The drell beliefs were so cut and dry, so logical, she wondered if their opinions would be any better or worse than humans. Humans were always grateful but wary of her, as quick to condemn her methods as they were to praise her ends. So she asked.

"What would your drell beliefs say about me?" she asked.

His eye ridges pulled together as he thought. "You are a weapon," he finally decided. "At first, you killed for the Alliance. Then, for the Council. Now, you work for Cerberus." He paused, before continuing – as if he almost thought better of it. "And if you were not working for them, you would be working for the Galaxy as a whole, protecting them." He pulled his hands behind his back. "You are selfless."

She blinked at him, and shook her head. "I do it because it's the only thing I'm good at," she admitted. "I'm not some hero."

He did not believe her, as was perfectly obvious from his expression. "Morinth was born with the skills to be even deadlier," he pointed out. "Your choices define you. _They_ make you a hero."

She looked at him in disbelief. "You really believe that, don't you?"

He looked surprised at the question, releasing his hands from their hold, and she suddenly realized her mistake. Before, she had been asking an impersonal question about drell beliefs. Now, she was asking what _he_ thought. They were two different things, and she felt terrible for having put him on the spot. "I'm sorry." She waved her own question away. "Ignore me. I should go."

She started through the door, but his voice stopped her before they closed again. "Shepard." She turned, believing herself to be immune to any embarrassing reprisals now that Life Support had expanded to include the Crew Deck and all of the ears within it. She waited. He straightened, meeting her gaze without bashfulness. "I believe it with all that I am."

She stopped breathing, her eyes glued to his. Their gazes remained locked until the doors closed between them. The snap of metal seemed to bring her back to herself, and she glanced around, her eyes moving from object to object without relief. She lowered her eyebrows, took in a deep breath, and moved to the elevator. Her eyes were faraway.

On the other side of the doors, the drell lowered his gaze thoughtfully. He allowed his mind to wander for just a moment, his gaze moving across the dim interior of Life Support. Then he turned slowly, clasped his hands behind him, and watched the light playing in the arc reactor.


	12. Things That Stick With You

She stared into the mirror at herself for a long time. She could honestly say she didn't study herself often, and that usually it was for practical reasons like checking a bruise or seeing how her scars were coming along. She took no pride in her looks. She had never found anything of beauty in her own face and was bored by the idea of taking time to find it - she took her pride in guns, guts, and grenades.

That didn't change now. The sudden interest wasn't about finding the beauty she had been overlooking for twenty nine years, but then, she didn't really know _what_ she was looking for. The scars were gone. Doctor Chakwas had fixed her. She could still occasionally see the whir of cybernetics behind her pupils, but aside from that no evidence remained of the wounds that had been gaping and raw just days ago. It was... unsettling.

She had done it because, simply, that's what she was supposed to do. She was a soldier, so when a medic said they could patch her up she figured get it done as quickly as possible so she could get back to the battlefield. What did she care about cleaning up scars, when she would undoubtedly make plenty more before the Collectors were defeated? The doc suggested it, however, and she accepted, so now the scars were gone.

Her skin was flawless. No matter how many different times she turned her head this way and that, she never saw the first hint of the bright pink lines that had riddled her face before. She lifted two fingers to her cheek and pulled lightly in one direction, expecting shadows of her former wounds to show up. They didn't. She let go and the skin popped back into place easily. She lowered the hand back to her sink.

There was something decidedly off about the whole thing. She remembered thinking the same thing when she first saw her scars, though, when they had been fresh and her death seemed like it had never really happened. She remembered thinking the face that stared back at her wasn't her own. Then, the scars were the only proof that she had ever really been dead, so she accepted their presence as a testimony of what she had to do. They were her new face, and she wore it because she had no choice.

Now she looked into her restored skin and thought the same damn thing. That wasn't her. She hadn't aged, or changed at all. There were no new wrinkles to show for the time that had passed, no extraneous gray hairs mixed in with the red. Her freckles were no lighter or darker, and there were no dark circles beneath her eyes from the nights of sleep she had lost or even a brightness in her cheeks from exertion. She was completely and utterly unchanged, and she _hated_ it.

This was not the woman she had become in recent weeks. This was not the woman who had been _changed_ by her death, by her recovery, and by the people who had joined the Normandy since then. It simply wasn't _her_ anymore. She could hardly take back what she'd done, carve new scars into her face - she wasn't crazy. All the same, she looked into the mirror now and wished she could see even a subtle difference between the face who had defeated Saren, and the face who had defeated her own demons since then.

She sighed in frustration, yanking at her hair this way and that as if it would somehow make her skin less uncomfortable. And then, quite suddenly, she stopped with her long bangs held straight up in one hand. She quirked an eyebrow.

* * *

She felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, instead of from her head. It was amazing what a difference a few inches made. She could now honestly say she had a 'shock' of red hair on top her head now, with the downy red locks doing pretty much whatever they wanted up there and the head they belonged to very happy to let them. She had no idea if it was fashionable, and she quite honestly did not care. It felt _brilliant_ and she was wishing she had made this change as soon as she came around to Miranda's voice back on the Cerberus space station.

"Joker," she called as she approached the bridge, not even noticing the eyes turning her way as she passed by. "Statrep?"

"Hey Commander – whoa." Joker had turned all the way around in his chair and then suddenly stopped, staring at her. "Um, Commander... something happened to your hair."

Shepard looked at his controls, not at all fazed. "The same thing will happen to your beard if you don't answer the question."

"Floating in Omega space, about an hour from the relay," he replied quickly, and then without pausing continued, "I get it. New hair to go with the new skin. Right?"

"We're not headed for the relay," she corrected, ignoring his probing about the hair. "Take us to Alchera."

That snapped him out of it. "Uhhh... Sorry, Shep, I thought you just said Alchera. You know, where I got shot down last time by a huge ass Collector ship with a super-gun. You probably just sneezed or something. Gazundheit, by the way."

"Joker," she replied flatly, crossing her arms.

"Did I mention your new hair looks really nice? Because it does. Very classy."

"Count of three, then I'm going to get my scissors."

"Fine," the pilot finally replied miserably. "But if you die this time I'm not going to your funeral." He turned his seat around stubbornly so he could start inputting coordinates.

"If I die this time, you'll be going to yours." Despite her hard words, she put a light hand on his shoulder before turning away towards the rest of the ship.

* * *

"Commander." Garrus's voice stopped her as she was waiting to load into the Firewalker above the Normandy crash site. She turned to face him, and he stopped, tilting his head curiously. "Are you... wearing new armor? You look... different."

She smiled broadly at her friend. Thank goodness for turians and their lack of concern over hairstyles. Between the humans on the ship, she had heard every comment imaginable about her new 'do (and still maintained it felt _fantastic_.) She expressed her appreciation, "Bless you, Garrus.".

"Right," he replied with confusion, but unlike other crew members he easily moved on. "Anyway, I wondered if you wanted some company on this one?" He shrugged lightly. "I know what it's like to be around the corpses of teammates. Wouldn't want you to have to face that alone."

She was really touched, and reached out to place a hand on his arm gratefully. "Thanks, Garrus," she told him genuinely. "I think I'd like to go down alone though, for a while anyway." She gestured to him after. "I could use your help later with the monument."

He nodded. "Fair enough," and she smiled her thanks to him.

She pulled her helmet on, and looked up to the ceiling as she spoke into her radio. "Joker, you sure you don't want to go?" she asked.

The pilot's voice came back to her via her headset. "Nah, I think I'm good up here where my bones are nice and unbroken. Thanks, though."

She nodded, and then climbed into the driver's seat of the three man hovercraft. The two pilots who had come down to ferry her to the planet looked at each other in confusion. "Did you need us, Commander?" they asked.

She glanced up at them as she strapped herself in. "What? Haven't you seen me drive the Firewalker before?"

The two glanced at each other and then looked at the ground, or walls, or anywhere but at her. "Well, yes ma'am," the vocal one finally spoke up. "That's why we thought you'd want us to drive."

Garrus couldn't contain his laughter, but she glared through her helmet and slammed the door down.

* * *

"Just a little more, guys," Shepard directed as Thane, Jacob, Grunt, and Garrus maneuvered the huge bronze monument to the Normandy across the ground of Alchera. She was pretty sure they were all thinking to themselves that she was a perfectionist, but so what? This was basically her grave, after all, so she needed to see that it was situated properly. When at last the monument was in exactly the most photogenic place, she called out a triumphant, "Stop!"

"About time," Grunt complained. "I'm hired muscle, not a pack animal."

Shepard gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, Grunt. You can hit Garrus, if you want."

Grunt let out a bark of laughter. "Very funny," Garrus retorted.

Jacob, on the other hand, was more serious. "It's a fitting tribute," he told her, standing back to admire the monument from where she stood. "Not as good as getting a little help with the Reapers, but I guess it's something."

She nodded her head in agreement. "It is. And it'll be nice to get the dog tags back to the families who lost people," she said. "And hey!" she then added, "I found this to take back to the ship!" She walked over to where her prize was waiting.

"Oh no, not the Mako," Garrus whined.

"No – although I would if I could. This!" She displayed her helmet proudly.

"You're joking," Jacob said, crossing his arms in disbelief.

Garrus snickered. "We always said you were hard-headed."

Grunt laughed in his slow way, "Heh heh heh, not much has changed."

She only grinned, and held onto her trophy triumphantly.

"Are we done?," Grunt then said, gesturing at the surroundings. "This place makes my skin itch. There's nothing to kill here."

Jacob looked surprised at the Krogan's violence. "Nothing to be killed _by_ either," he replied, "But I'm ready whenever Shepard is."

"Shepard?" Garrus asked, and she turned around to the field where the Normandy debris remained. It was a little bit like cutting off her hair, like seeing it all and saying goodbye brought a lightness to her. She nodded her head.

"Yeah, I think I am." She turned back toward the shuttle, and waited for everyone to board, before piling in herself. She took one glance back out at the Normandy, watching it from the window as they climbed up to the SR2. And as she turned back to the inside of the shuttle – Thane directly across from her, Jacob and Garrus beside him, and Grunt at her right – she felt for the first time what she used to feel coming back to the SR1.

It felt so good to be home.

* * *

The mess hall was quiet, empty. Most of the Normandy was probably already asleep and in bed, and she had tried to be, as well, but something kept her awake. It was very different from the last time she had been unable to sleep, when she had been awoken by a dream so lovely it made the real life she woke up to feel painfully empty by comparison. Instead, she simply had way too much energy.

She tried to sleep and she fidgeted, her mind wandering over all the names she had read on the dog tags that day, the old memories that had come back to her, and the incredible sense of closure she had about it all. She couldn't wait to get the dog tags back to the families who had been waiting on them, and when it became clear she really wasn't going to be sleeping she decided she might as well get a start.

So here she was, with sturdy envelopes spread out across the table, writing out labels by hand. It was cathartic and she was glad she had decided to do it herself. She hadn't noticed anyone enter the room when a chair moved out on the other side of the table and she jumped, looking up to find Thane there with that playful spark in his eyes that you had to know him well to notice. She didn't greet him, as punishment for his actions, but he took a seat anyway.

"May I help?" he asked politely, his hands folded in his lap.

"You can keep me company," she offered. She sketched a name down onto an envelope in her usual chicken scratch, checking a datapad often to be sure of spelling. While she was distracted Thane checked her mug and upon finding it empty stood to refill it. When he returned, the smell of coffee assaulted her senses and made her mouth water. She set down her pen.

"Mmm," she intoned, "Thanks." She reached for her cup and held it between her hands, letting the warmth seep into her bones. She lifted one leg into her chair informally as she relaxed into her seat, and looked across at her company curiously. He was looking above her head, or so it seemed, and it took her a second to realize he was looking at her hair.

"Oh," she said, reaching to smooth the wild locks. She waved off the attempt when it proved mostly futile – her fine hair would do whatever it wanted, anyway, and truthfully deep down she kind of liked that about her new hairstyle. It was wonderfully easy to style, kept out of her way, and it looked just a little mad. It was perfect.

"I keep forgetting how new my hair is to everyone else," she explained, before shrugging her shoulders.

"Drell have very few ways to change their appearance," Thane replied, as if to account for his stare. She had to admit she'd never thought of that.

"I noticed your... uh..." She smiled sheepishly. "We would call them 'earrings.'" She demonstrated by touching her ear and motioning her hand at the golden rings in the fringe on one side of his face.

A soft smile tugged at his own lips. "We call them 'token rings.'"

She lifted her eyebrows curiously. "Do they symbolize anything? Or are they just decorative?"

"Not all drell subscribe to it," he clarified preemptively, "but to some the rings have meaning. We would take one for each of our family, one for a husband or wife, one for a child, to keep them always with us. When we die, they would be passed on to them, and they might wear them to remember us."

She lifted her chin with realization. "Is one of them Irikah's?" she asked.

He nodded. "Mine went with her into the sea. The other is for Kolyat."

"That's beautiful," she told him sincerely. "We have something similar. We wear rings on our left hand," she demonstrated by pointing with her thumb to her left ring finger, "to symbolize our marriage. We don't have anything for our children, but I like the idea."

He nodded his understanding, and then asked, "Have you ever worn a ring?"

"Oh," she replied, caught off guard, and then she laughed breezily as she set down her coffee. "No. No rings." She lifted a hand from her coffee to gesture at the ship around her, "I've always just been a Marine, so my armor says it all."

He paused a moment as he looked back at her shorter hair, and then returned his gaze to her face. "And what does your hair symbolize?"

His gaze seemed very wise as he looked at her, and she realized there was no point trying to pretend it had just been an aesthetic thing. So she took a deep breath, her eyes jumping between his, as she tried to explain it to herself. And then, though it didn't seem to have anything to do with the topic at hand, she found herself asking him, "Do you remember the conversation we had after Omega?"

"Perfectly," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She chuckled down into her coffee, shaking her head at herself. "Okay, stupid question," she conceded. She motioned towards him as she continued, meeting his gaze without bashfulness. "I've never looked at myself the way you do. I've always considered myself sort of a..." She looked away to search for the words. "Convenient monster." She looked back to him, and then down in her mottled reflection in her coffee.

"I remember once, after I became a Spectre, an Alliance admiral gave me an assignment in the Plutus system in Terminus space. I was sent to negotiate a mining treaty with a man named Darius." She shook her head. "I know nothing about negotiating treaties, but I did what I was told and flew to Nonuel."

Her eyes became distant for a moment as she remembered the events. "The Alliance sent Darius there to clean up the system, and stake a claim for them. After a few years, he got greedy. He set himself up as a 'lord' over his employees, like he was some kind of king, and when I turned down his demands for bribery and official power, he threatened me and my team." She shrugged. "So I killed him."

She met his eyes. "They expected me to. They gave me the assignment because they knew that if he threatened me, my people, or the Alliance, I wouldn't hesitate to put a stop to him. But when I called them out on it, they denied it. They told me the decision to kill was my own, and it was only because I was a Spectre that they didn't reprimand me." She let a breath out through her nose and rolled her eyes. "They used me."

She furrowed her brows. "My decisions aren't always kind, or even reasonable. I can kill without guilt or mercy. I've always thought of that as a shortcoming of mine, some kind of defect from my... incomplete childhood. I thought of the Alliance as a way to put my flaw to good use, and that assignment..." She shook her head. "It sealed the deal. Even the Alliance treated me like I was just a particularly useful mistake.

"But after meeting you," she continued, gesturing his way, "After what you said, I'm starting to think maybe I'm not such a monster after all. I don't think I'm a hero," she lifted her eyebrows as she qualified herself. "But maybe, I'm somewhere in between. Maybe..." She searched for words. "Maybe I'm just a soldier, trying to protect people – not just from the bad guys, but from the things _I_ have to do, too. Maybe being able to kill isn't a defect. Maybe, it's just a difference, and I do the best I can with it."

She looked at him for a moment, before remembering that this was supposed to be about hair and not her odd self-evaluation. "Anyway," she continued. "After Doctor Chakwas fixed my scars, every time I looked in the mirror I saw the same woman I was two years ago, like nothing had changed. It's like the scars were the only evidence that two years had even passed." Her voice rose slightly with emphasis.

"I just didn't feel like that woman anymore. So I... cut my hair." Her expression was a little embarrassed, but she lifted one shoulder. "And I felt better. I _feel_ better. I feel like someone who..." She continued, clearly a bit self-conscious, "Who might actually _deserve_ being called a hero, every once in a while."

She wrapped her hands back around her cooling coffee. "So that's the story. Pretty silly, really." Then she looked into her cup and up to him. "But thanks, all the same."

She had expected he would be overwhelmed by her outpouring, or embarrassed by the importance she placed on his words, but she was worried for nothing. He was completely untroubled as he responded. "It's very becoming."

She looked up, a little surprised, and touched her hair. "You think so?"

He nodded. "I like that it no longer falls into your face. I can see you better – read your expressions, see the shape of your face."

She tugged at the short hairs at the back of her neck thoughtfully. "I never thought of that," she admitted. She shrugged again. "Thanks." And then, because she was completely incapable of simply receiving a compliment, she added. "See, my change in hair has been educational. I'm instructing other species as to the human standards of beauty."

His lips pulled into a half smirk, his eyes sparkling with something between mischief and amusement. "Would it make you uncomfortable if I said that when it comes to human beauty, _you_ have set the standard for me already?"

She looked at him for a moment, stunned, before laughing in honest shock. "You should probably know that Miranda is far closer to what most humans would consider beautiful."

His response was simple and unarguable. "I am not human."

She didn't know rightly what to say, so she laughed once again, and lifted her eyebrows. "Lucky for me, I suppose." She felt a faint blush take root in her cheeks, and reached for her coffee.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," he told her.

"No," she replied, waving the apology away. "The coffee is hot," she lied in a way that made it perfectly clear she was lying, but gave them both an out. She set her mug back down, and reached for her next envelope.

"Should I leave you to your work?" he asked, leaning forward as if ready to leave.

"No," she disagreed, glancing up at him. "Stay, if you have nothing else to do." She gestured to the table. "This is just busy work, anyway." When he relaxed again and clasped his hands atop the table, she gave him a pleased smile.

"It was nice, visiting the Normandy," she told him as she picked up a bag with dusty, tarnished dog tags inside. She looked at them thoughtfully. "Brought back so many memories."

He studied her quietly for a moment, before asking, "What are human memories like?"

Oh, right. It hadn't occurred to her that while she had needed an explanation about drell memories, he would need one about humanity's as well. "Um," she said as she considered how to word it. "Imperfect," she finally settled on, a flash of amusement in her features. "I think they're always there, or at least, the important ones are. When we dream or when something triggers them, they can come to us more readily or... vividly. The rest of the time, it can be a bit like trying to catch a piece of tissue in the ocean – even if you can catch it, you have to be careful not to tear it as you pick it up."

His curiosity was not completely satisfied, and he gestured with his fingers as he encouraged her to go on. "What sorts of things do you remember most?"

Her envelopes once again laid forgotten, and she leaned back in her chair, looking at the ceiling as she thought. "Painful things," she admitted, "and, really lovely things. Habits, or things we've done often, and recent things." She shrugged. "Those are easiest to remember. But when we do, I don't think it's as... complete as when you do. It's limited to the things that stick with you."

He leveled his gaze at her, his voice gentle as he asked, "What things stick with _you_?"

She had been expecting that question, but found it difficult to answer. She considered it thoughtfully, before slowly trying to work her way through a response. "Well," she said, "for instance, the smell of vanilla ice cream always makes me remember these walks my mother and I used to take when she was feeling in a good mood. We used to walk down to the river, where there were fair rides and little booths of food. We would get an ice cream cone and then we would ride the Ferris wheel."

She blinked as the memory took over, as strong now as it had been twenty odd years ago. "I can distinctly remember the sky's shade of blue, the way my stomach dropped when we reached the top of the wheel, the chill of the ice cream, and my mother's laugh." She returned to the present, and then shrugged. "Nothing like your memory, I'm sure."

He nodded once. "Does the ache of a painful memory ever dull?"

She studied him thoughtfully. "They say it does," she admitted. "But I can still remember everything I felt the day she left. The fear, the guilt is still..." She shook her head as she searched for the word. "_Impossible_. But I guess after a while, you grow numb to the person you were then, like you can only feel sorry for yourself so often. It doesn't really stop hurting – you _know_ it hurt – but the pain itself..." She was going to say that it faded, but she realized that would be a lie. "It only comes to you sometimes."

"_That_ is a blessing," he told her firmly.

"Maybe," she said, less inclined to argue than she might be with anyone else. "But so is being able to remember the good things with perfect clarity." She tilted her head softly as she looked at him. "I don't know about drell, but humans are a little too quick to forget the things that make us happy when things get bad."

"Remembering is biological," Thane replied. "What we _recall_ is a choice. I'm afraid drell are no less weak than humans when it comes to dwelling on the wrong emotions."

She nodded slowly at him with understanding, and then added, "Well, that's something we have in common, then."

He lowered his head in concession, and for a moment silence settled on them both as their minds moved independently. She returned her attention to her coffee, taking a sip though it was hardly hot anymore. He watched her, until a new topic of conversation came to him.

"What is our next assignment?" he asked curiously.

"Bekenstein," she replied easily. "It's in Citadel space. I didn't want to stay too close to the Citadel after the business with Sidonis, so I decided to come back to it later. Kasumi needs help."

Her expression turned thoughtful and she stopped writing long enough to look up at him. "I'm collecting quite the assortment of outlaws," she stated observantly. Her expression became decisive. "When I'm finished, I plan to turn you all in for a _very_ handsome reward."

He smiled at her jest. "By that time, you will have made us _all_ into heroes," he told her.

"Hmmm," she stated, pursing her lips together flatly because he had a point. But then she continued a little more seriously. "Maybe you don't 'make' heroes, Thane," she suggested, and then she met his gaze across the table. "Maybe you just give them opportunity."

He blinked at her assertion, lowering his chin slightly. "Perhaps," he agreed for the sake of the conversation, but even after she had turned her attention back to her work his dark gaze lingered on her, consumed by her words. He had never felt like a monster, the way she had. His beliefs prevented that. But he had certainly felt like a failure, and her simple belief that he might be more somehow changed things. Like her, he didn't believe her words outright, the way a child believes in the faith of their mother. Instead, he entertained the possibility that he might actually deserve the faith she placed in him. Perhaps there _was_ something in him that was worthy of a chance at redemption, and that chance seemed to make all the difference in the world.

He didn't run out and cut his hair, or even tell her how grateful he was for her words. Instead, when she finished with her envelope, he passed her another. When her coffee cup was empty, he refilled it. When her pen gave her a fit, he reached to fix it, and enjoyed the subtle smile that lit her features when he was successful. He might never be eloquent enough to give words to his gratitude, so his steady, silent support would have to suffice. It was a shortcoming he was glad to struggle with, the kind of challenge that made a person more worthy rather than weak. He hadn't realized until now how much he had missed it, the art of finding ways to show an admiration so strong it defied language. Maybe he _was_ just an assassin, but he did the best he could with it.


	13. How Far We've Come

_A/N: My wonderful readers, please forgive me for the wait and for giving you what I assume will be a bit of a bore for many of you. This chapter is a recap chapter, playing catchup for a dear friend of mine who wishes to read this story but has never played Mass Effect. I have endeavored in this fic not to repeat much of the canon storyline so as not to bore you with details you already know, and now I'm afraid that's exactly what this chapter is about! It recaps all the canon story between Thane and Shepard, as well as the individual choices she makes there and her (or his) thoughts during it. Near the end, there is a little bit of story progression, as well. I hope at the very least it entertains you, and I hope that it completely converts my friend into a huge Mass Effect fiend and a Shrios shipper for life – a cause we can all get behind!_

_Please bear with me and, as always, thank you very much for sticking with me!_

* * *

Gunfire peppered the air, light and faraway. He stopped his forward progress through the ventilation shafts of Dantius Towers, looking back down the long, narrow tunnel to where the shots had echoed. He wondered if the Salarian workers at the doors had become victims to Nassana's mercenaries after all, and frowned deeply. He would have to be on the lookout for any other innocents. He would not let Nassana claim their lives simply because she was paranoid about_ him_, if he could help it. He turned, and continued to crawl on his elbows and shins.

The next time he heard gunfire the shots were much closer. He was surprised to hear another round breaking out, and realized this time that the shots were not one sided. It was unlikely that the Dantius workers were equipped with assault rifles, he realized, and that meant Nassana's guards were being shot at by someone else. Several someones, it seemed. The Authorities? Surely not, on this planet. Ilium didn't care who shot who so long as someone was getting paid for it. He couldn't imagine who would be assaulting the tower except for those hoping to also cash in on his 'assignment' to take out Nassana. Well. That would never do. He redoubled his speed.

The first glimpse he got of the other team was a few floors later. They were only one floor below him now, and he paused in his efforts to peer out of a vent. An Eclipse soldier, one of Nassana's bodyguards, was patrolling nearby. "They're below," he stated anxiously through his radio, obviously waiting for orders from a superior.

"Stay where you are," came the order, and the Eclipse soldier shook his head. He muttered to himself about sitting ducks, and then his heavy footsteps disappeared around a corner.

Thane dropped from the ceiling without a sound. He moved silently to a nearby panel in the floor, pushing it aside to reveal a large fan, part of the Life Support tunnels. It lead to a reception area on the story below. He turned his head softly and listened acutely past the slowly rotating blades. He could hear guards murmuring softly, nervously, their armored feet clinking against the floor every time they shifted uncomfortably. Before long, that murmur turned into frightened shouts.

"There they are!" Gunfire rang out, the nervous, imprecise kind of a terrified shooter. The response was quick, effective, and not nearly as sporadic. Within seconds, the small attachment was dispatched, and he listened as the shooters stepped nearer. A set of ankles side-stepped into view, swathed in deep red battle armor. They looked humanoid by anatomy and feminine based purely on the slimness. After a moment her stance relaxed, and her voice confirmed his suspicions.

"Clear," she announced, stowing her assault rifle on her back. She kicked a pistol away from one of the guard's still twitching hands. "No one ever seems happy to see me," she observed, her voice amused and almost proud. One of her companions snorted and walked fully into view. He was a turian in blue armor, and he carried a sniper rifle by the barrel.

"Does the savior of the Citadel miss her red carpet?" he asked. He toed a corpse and leaned to pick up an unused thermal clip that fell onto the floor.

"Only if it comes with an open bar," the woman responded jokingly. The turian chuckled.

"Shepard," a third voice called, and the woman moved readily out of eyesight.

He lifted his head softly and his eye ridges pulled together as he considered this information. Savior of the Citadel? Shepard? Surely she wasn't _the_ Commander Shepard. His eyes narrowed. What business she could possibly have here? If she had turned mercenary and was after Nassana he would have to hurry. Perhaps she was a blessing in disguise, however. Who would notice him sneaking through the vents if she insisted on kicking in the front door? Yes... it changed things, but he could use it to his advantage.

The _whuff_ of the fan blades and his own deep thoughts covered up the sound of approaching footsteps. "Hey! What?"

The Eclipse patrolman's words and breaths were cut short as Thane quickly jabbed a punch in between the plates of his armor. With a swipe of his legs and a quick jerk of the soldier's upper body, he sent him falling through the shaft below, knocking the fan out of place. His body crashed hard to the story below.

He moved quickly lest he draw attention to himself. He looked up above him where the wide fan tunnel continued upward into the floors above. With a running start he leaped up into the tunnel, bracing his arms against the sides to continue his upward motion until he could draw his legs up as well. He held himself aloft with a leg pressing into either side of the duct, moving with astonishing speed until he reached the top and could pull himself through.

She was looking up when he glanced behind him, her bright green eyes shifting across the expanse which told him she could not see him in the darkness. The visor beneath her helmet flashed information, casting an orange glow across her cheek, and she tilted her head curiously. She didn't fire any shots, or even look surprised to have heard something in the vents above. The turian approached to examine the broken body of the Eclipse mercenary he had thrown down.

"Looks like somebody left you a present after all."

"Dead mercs. My kinda gift. Let's go," she then suggested.

Silently the assassin agreed, and he disappeared from view in a flash.

It was two floors later that he spotted her again. He had taken to the rafters of the warehouse area, silently moving from bar to bar overhead like a trapeze artist. Down below, Shepard suddenly emerged from an elevator, and the Eclipse guards started shooting. He tried not to get caught up in their firefight, instead making his way easily to the other side of the room entirely unperturbed. But he stopped before she was out of view, watching her battle with some interest. She didn't seem to be so very special to him – the same automatic guns and grenades that made any Alliance soldier. She didn't even use biotics to attack her enemies with telekinetics, or hack their shields with her omnitool. He couldn't see anything that would make her the superior fighter of legend, at least not at first glance.

But she was unstoppable. Her shots landed where she needed them to. She stepped into fire until the very moment her shields popped offline, before ducking for cover. She squeezed every last bullet out of her thermal clip before tossing it aside. She was just a soldier, but she was a damn good one – he would give her that.

More than that, she was a leader. When the doors on the other end of the room opened to reveal a heavy mech – a robotic enemy with heavy weapons that could give any enemy a challenge – her eyes widened and she immediately put herself between the robot's heavy submachine guns and her team. She pushed against the turian to send him away and provided cover fire, only retreating when her shields buzzed and crackled ineffectively around her. She threw herself behind a few metal crates, rolling back to a squatting position as she reloaded her thermal clip. She checked to make sure her team was alright, before returning to the offensive.

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at her, but didn't stay to consider. She would be held up by the mech and that would give him time to put some distance between them. So he moved off long before her fight was finished, only hearing from afar when the two sets of gunfire finally died down. He wondered who had come out the victor, and found himself hoping it was her. It would simply be a shame to survive a war with the Geth and rumors of death, only to be killed by a few badly trained thugs and their shooting machine.

Not long after, he realized she had overtaken him. He heard a commotion on the floor above him, like he was hearing the shouts through a dream. He looked up in shock at the ceiling, an eyebrow lifting incredulously. He was not often surprised, but Shepard's determination to reach the top of the tower was... impressive. He stopped in his tracks and tuned into the conversation upstairs, which carried to him through the open space near the window.

"Turn around, very slowly," he heard Shepard command, and he realized she must have an Eclipse guard at gunpoint. He strained to hear what might be vital information regarding his mark's whereabouts.

Except Shepard didn't ask about his mark. His brow furrowed to hear what she _did_ want to know. "Tell me where the assassin is and I might let you live."

"If I knew that," the other voice replied, "I wouldn't be wasting my time talking to you."

And that was all he needed to know. He immediately ran for the end of the hall, hoping to get ahead of her while she wasted time trying to talk the guard out of his information. That was wishful thinking, however. Moments later he heard a crash of broken glass and saw the guard freefalling through the window beside him. He paused in his run, staring at the window in disbelief. What exactly did Shepard want with him?

Moments later, he was closing in on the target. Nassana gave herself away with a concentration of guards outside her office, and he found her with no trouble. He followed the life support vents all the way to her office, but was surprised when Shepard and her team hacked their way through the security door and waltzed right in. He couldn't see her yet, but he could hear everyone in the room below. The asari's voice was shocked.

"Shepard!" Nassana said in recognition. "But you're dead!" Thane lifted a brow. He had never considered that his mark had a history with Shepard, and now wondered whose side the soldier was on – but that quickly became apparent.

"I got better," Shepard replied dryly.

"And now you're here to kill me," Nassana replied bitterly.

Shepard's voice was light. "Maybe I just missed you."

"Screw you, Shepard!" He could hear the asari's angry footsteps, and Shepard's voice followed her, the smirk audible.

"Charming as ever."

"I'm sure you find this all very ironic," the crime lord continued bitterly. "First you take care of my sister, and now you're here for me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Nassana." Shepard sounded bored. "I'm not here for you."

"Then what?" the other woman asked. "You've practically destroyed my towers, decimated my security. Is it credits? Is that what you want? Just tell me your price, we can make this problem go away."

There was a brief pause as he jumped down into a nearby vent, finally able to see down into the room. Shepard crossed her arms, her face perfectly composed – too composed. Lying. "Make me an offer."

"Double whatever you're getting," Nassana said immediately. "And I'll pay double again if you tell me who hired you."

He didn't wait for Shepard to consider the generous offer. He fell silently from the vent overhead, snapped the neck of the first guard he reached, and proceeded to easily make his way through the rest. When at last there was only Nassana remaining he swiftly put a bullet through her, ending her life quickly and with as little pain as possible. He delicately rested her against the desk she had been overseeing. Without paying Shepard the compliment of actually looking up at her, he immediately bowed his head to pray.

* * *

"Impressive." Garrus's rich voice was genuine as he eyed the drell assassin. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."

Shepard had to agree. She had stared at this guy's dossier for hours but nothing had prepared her for actually seeing him in action. He moved like nothing she had ever seen, fearless and silent. He was as fatal with his bare hands as any other killer might be with dozens of weapons at his disposal. And despite having fought her way up the entire skyscraper, this was her first glimpse of him. He was downright extraordinary, and she suddenly understood exactly how valuable an asset he would be on her team.

But he certainly didn't seem very interested in what she had to say. She wasn't a complete jackass; she didn't want to interrupt the prayers of someone she was hoping to recruit to her team. As the old saying goes, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. So she waited for a moment, walking slowly forward to look at him.

She had her limits, though. "Whenever you're ready," she said in a tone that suggested he ought to _get_ ready pretty damn soon.

"One moment. Prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken."

She stared at the drell incredulously, one red eyebrow crawling up her forehead. "You really think she deserves it?" Maybe it was just because she was familiar with the crime lord, but for her part she figured Nassana Dantius could rot for all she cared. And the Eclipse soldiers who played her bodyguards? They made their choice. If she prayed for every hired gun who ever got in her way she wouldn't have time for anything else.

He lifted his head slowly from its bow, his brow furrowing delicately at her lack of understanding. "Not for her," he explained, finally lifting his gaze to hers. His face was impassive as he explained, "For me."

Her eyebrow lowered into place, but only because her disbelief had grown so much it had no where to snap except back where it came from. Unbelievable.

At least she had brought him out of his silence, though. He began to move around Nassana's desk, speaking as he went, in a tone that was somewhere between wise and preaching. Still getting to know him, she wasn't ready to condemn him as the latter just yet – and for her, that would have been very harsh criticism indeed.

"The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern by actions alone. Take you, for instance. All this destruction... chaos. I was curious to see how far you'd go to find me." He straightened and faced her, meeting her eye to eye. "Well, here I am."

She looked at him, but it was her turn to be caught a little off guard. "How'd you know I was coming at all?"

He returned her look, and then began to approach, speaking. "I didn't," he admitted. "Not until you marched in the front door and started shooting." He came to a stop in front of Garrus, who still had his sniper rifle aimed carefully at the assassin. The drell seemed unafraid of the threat, and instead inspected the turian coolly.

"Gunfire and explosions," he said in the kind of tone that smacks of disapproval. "I prefer to work quickly. If I have to fight through guards, I've made a mistake. I rarely make mistakes." Again, the way he said 'fight through guards' made it sound like it was distasteful. Her expression was a little amused at the idea.

"My method got me here first," she pointed out, crossing her arms cockily over her chest. He turned halfway to glance at her, before turning forward again.

"Nassana had become paranoid," he explained, clasping his hands behind his back in a very relaxed, albeit perfectly straight, pose. "You saw the strength of her guard force. She believed one of her sisters would kill her." He glanced lightly over his shoulder, coming to the point at last. "You were a valuable distraction."

Her eyes narrowed at his audacity. It was one thing to talk about her methods like they were cheap or unpleasant. It was another thing entirely to belittle her down into nothing but 'a valuable distraction.' Her voice betrayed her irritation. "You used me so you could kill her?"

His voice was calm, satisfied. "I needed a diversion; you needed to speak with me."

Hmph. She jerked her head at Garrus and Mordin, who both lowered their weapons hesitantly. The drell was now free to behave as he liked, though she got the distinct impression he had been all along.

With the guns gone, he turned to her. "You certainly fulfilled your end of the bargain. What would you like to discuss?"

"Entire human colonies are being abducted by the Collectors," she explained succinctly, following the drell as he walked back toward the window and came to a stop. "Freedom's Progress was their work," she added. That particular colony was a shining example of how the Collectors worked – paralyzing thousands of people through a neurotoxin and then kidnapping them for genetic research. What they were doing with the humans was anyone's guess, but one thing she knew for certain. "I'm going to put a stop to it."

He turned to look at her quickly, his expression serious. "Attacking the Collectors would require passing through the Omega-4 relay. No ship has ever returned from doing so."

She lifted her chin slightly, surprised that he was so well-informed. She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "They told me it was impossible to get to Ilos, too."

"A fair point," he responded easily. "You've made a career out of performing the impossible."

He stared ahead again for a moment, and she moved around him so that she could see his face, or at least half of it. At last, he spoke again, turning his gaze halfway in her direction.

"This was to be my last job," he stated softly. "I'm dying." He turned his eyes back to the setting sun, and continued. "Low survival odds don't concern me. The abduction of your colonists does."

"You're dying?" she asked in surprise. The information she had didn't mentioned that, but she supposed that's because The Illusive Man wanted her to actually recruit the guy and truth be told she wasn't sure she would have if she'd known that ahead of time. Her brows lowered as she continued her questions, "Are you contagious? How long do you have?"

He turned to look at her, still completely calm but not giving much away in his look, either. "If you're interested we can discuss it on your ship. The problem isn't contagious, and it won't affect my work."

She considered this, before bowing her head slightly in concession. If that was true, she saw no reason to turn away his help, though she had her reservations. She would certainly be watching him, to see if he was really healthy enough to be taking this on. That left only one concern, or perhaps it was less a concern and more a curiosity. She was simply interested.

"Not to look a gift assassin in the mouth, but why _are_ human colonies a concern to you?"

He did not hesitate. "They are innocent, yes? Like all victims of the Collectors." He tilted his head softly as she stared at the sun. "The universe is a dark place. I'm trying to make it brighter before I die."

He turned to face her again, his expression contrite. "Many innocents died today. I wasn't fast enough and they suffered. I must atone for that."

She watched him with an expression that wasn't totally believing, but which couldn't come up with any reason to pretend to be so... guilt-ridden. Therefore, he must be sincere, as strange as it sounded.

He suddenly became more business like. "I will work for you Shepard," he agreed. "No charge."

She shook his offered hand, and then smirked a little as she turned back to the other two members of her team. "Damn," she said. "And I was hoping to piss off my boss with your exorbitant fee."

Garrus snickered, but Mordin piped up helpfully. "Could still collect the fee. Could use it to purchase better gear. Upgrade the Normandy. Just do not give to Miranda. Do not wish to find more listening devices in the laboratory." He sniffed indignantly. "Most time consuming."

Shepard turned her green eyes on the salarian scientist, grinning broadly. "You're a genius, Mordin."

"Yes," he agreed without pretense.

The drell assassin followed silently behind them all.

* * *

The doors to debriefing sprung open, and Shepard looked up from where she had been waiting. She quirked an eyebrow in surprise. She had been expecting Thane, but instead she found Jacob, the dark-skinned ex-Alliance soldier turned Ceberus head of security. Her brow furrowed as he made his way in without invitation, his expression troubled.

"Is it true?" he asked. "We have an _assassin _on board?"

She lifted an eyebrow at him, a little surprised at his tone. Granted, since the first time she met him that he was about as honest as they came. When she woke up in the Cerberus base after being unconscious for nearly two years, he was the first one who would tell her what was actually going on. It was a trait she liked about him, so his words weren't altogether surprising. It was the attitude he was giving her that caught her off guard, and she crossed her arms over her ribcage, unimpressed.

"An assassin the Illusive Man recommended," she replied pointedly. He couldn't exactly claim any kind of high ground there. They were both members of Cerberus, an organization most of Citadel space considered a bunch of terrorists, and the Illusive Man was the leader of that organization. And given they were both 'terrorists' working for the same corrupt boss, throwing their lot in with an assassin seemed a silly thing to quibble over.

"Since when do you care what the Illusive Man has to say?" he asked, just as truthfully. And she had to admit he had a point. She hated that chain-smoking bastard, but what could she do? With the Alliance turning a blind eye to the real threat, working for the Illusive Man was the only choice either of them had to save their own species. (No pressure.)

"What's on your mind, Jacob?" she asked him purposefully. Through their many disagreements they hadn't once deteriorated to pointless jabs at each other yet; surely they could have a conversation now without it becoming infantile. His expression immediately went from aggressive, to a more reasonable one – one that looked more familiar on him.

"I trust your judgment, Shepard," he told her, marching in a tight circle. "I'm just... concerned."

"Spoken like a true Marine," she countered, trusting him to take her point. This wasn't an Alliance vessel. He didn't have to be worried about pissing off his superior officer, and she expected him to speak his mind. He laughed once, dryly.

"Yeah," he agreed, catching the subtle criticism. He stopped pacing and faced her as if he was ready to open up. "Guess old habits die hard. I just..."

Before he could continue, the doors to the debriefing room opened again. _Speak of the devil_, she thought as the assassin in question walked right in. The drell shifted his weight wordlessly, making himself comfortable, and clutched his wrists behind his back.

Jacob, on the other hand, moved all his weight to one foot and crossed his arms across his broad chest. He looked like a wall, immovable and hard. He glanced once at Shepard, before returning his attention to the drell before them. "I've heard impressive stories, Krios. Sounds like you'll be an asset to the team." He returned his eyes to Shepard and shrugged. "That is, if you can trust an _assassin_ to watch your back."

Thane's brow furrowed in confusion at Jacob's response to him. "I have accepted a contract," he explained, as if that was all anyone needed to know about his trustworthiness. He nodded his head to the redheaded woman across the room. "My arm is Shepard's."

"Uh huh," Jacob replied disbelievingly. "Dunno about _you_," he continued, leaning forward slightly at the waist in a challenge, "but I'm loyal to more than my next paycheck."

Shepard's brow furrowed, and she gestured to Thane. "Obviously he is, too," she argued. "He's doing this mission gratis." She didn't normally like to step into crew disagreements, but in this case Jacob really didn't have a leg to stand on. "What's your concern?" she offered as a consolation.

Jacob shrugged his shoulders stiffly, looking her in the eyes. "I don't like mercenaries. An assassin," he turned his eyes back to Thane, "is just a precise mercenary."

Thane was quick to stand up for himself. "An assassin is a weapon. A weapon doesn't choose to kill. The one who wields it does." He began his explanation to Jacob, but he turned his gaze to Shepard halfway through as if he wasn't really concerned with convincing anyone but her. After all, she was his leader; Jacob was just another 'weapon.'

"Where shall I put my things?" he asked, changing the subject. "I'd prefer someplace dry, if anything is available."

EDI popped up out of nowhere, the globe-shapped hologram that comprised her 'body' blinking with the sound of her synthesized voice. "The area near the life support plant on the crew deck tends to be slightly more arid than the rest of the ship," the artificial intelligence explained readily.

"Ah," Thane replied, taken aback for a moment. "An AI?" he asked curiously. "My thanks," he continued, sounding somewhat skeptical but still very polite. He bowed deeply to them all, and Shepard bent her head slightly forward in return. He turned and disappeared through the double doors.

EDI echoed what she was thinking. "He seems quite civil," she decided, and then disappeared from view.

Shepard turned her attention to Jacob, letting the silence settle between them for a brief moment. He seemed braced for what she had to say. "We need all the help we can get," she told him, which was completely true. She didn't know what they were exactly up against with the mysterious Collectors – no one did – but she understood that to be successful taking them on they would need help and lots of it. Thane, while perhaps not Marine material, was still willing to help. That said a lot in her book.

"He's not what I expected in an assassin," she continued. "He may surprise you."

"Yeah," Jacob replied in a tone that said he wasn't convinced. He uncrossed his arms and began to move across the room. "And he may not."

* * *

He stepped into the life support plant and came to a stop as the doors closed behind him. He took a deep breath. It was not so dry as it could have been – they were mostly a human crew, and humans couldn't stand the dry air anymore than he could stand the humidity – but it would do. He moved over to the room proper, where a small pile of things had been provided by Gardner, the mess hall sergeant and apparent welcome crew for those on the crew deck. It contained a chair, a folding table, and a cot, all that was to become of his sparsely furnished room. It was all he needed. He had lived on less, and he dared say would again before his illness took him. Immediately, he got to work setting it up.

He barely finished half his dinner that evening in the mess hall. He wasn't used to living with others, and though Life Support was quiet and uneventful, nothing but the quiet hum of machinery and the steady pulse of oxygen through the tanks, the mess hall was anything but. People were eager to lay eyes on the newest member of the crew, and he was not quite so eager to field their enthusiasm. Tales had already spread of his career, though most were exaggerated – whether grossly overexaggerated or underrated was yet to be seen. Unfortunately, he was not one to tell stories, though he could have regaled them in perfect detail. Instead, he ended up leaving a few minutes in. He would return later, if he got hungry.

Then, he had been visited by the doctor on board. Chakwas had been perfectly civil, and had encouraged him to come to her for check in. She would need to perform a physical before he could take on active duty, and he wondered briefly whether that was standard procedure or whether Shepard had ordered it. No matter. He agreed that he would stop by later, after he allowed her to enjoy her evening. She seemed to appreciate the gesture, and he was on his own again.

In truth, the entire experience was a strain on him. He had led a very solitary life for a very long time, and to be suddenly surrounded by many people in the confined area of the ship was trying. He spent his first twenty four hours simply attempting to come to terms with the constant sense of company. He would adjust, he was certain. He always did. For now, however, it was most uncomfortable.

Shepard came to see him the next day.

He had been caught up in a memory when she entered, recognizing her only by the sound of her footsteps. He half wished to be left alone, but he had told her they would talk more on the ship and he would not go back on his words. "Do you need something?" he asked. He did not turn around to look at her, content that he could hear the subtle influences of her voice just as well. He hadn't yet learned to read human body language anyway.

"Have a few minutes to talk?" she asked.

"Certainly," he replied, tilting his head softly over his shoulder, before turning his face back forward. "We haven't had a chance since I joined."

She cut straight to the point. "When we met you, you said you were dying." He liked that her voice didn't sound pitying or sad for him – only concerned the way any leader of a vessel with him on board ought to be.

"Yes," he admitted, lifting his fingers in a small gesture where they had been wrapped around his other fist. "I thought you'd want to know more. You don't have to worry about the rest of the crew," he reassured her. He had gathered that this was a concern for her, and didn't believe she was concerned merely on his own behalf. "My illness is not communicable, even to other drell. It's called Kepral's syndrome."

"What exactly is the problem?" she asked.

"My people are native to an arid world," he explained. "Most of us now live on Kahje, the hanar homeworld. It's very humid, and it rains every day. Our lungs can't deal with the moisture," he continued. "Over time, the tissue loses it's ability to absorb oxygen. It becomes harder to breathe." He lowered his eyes to the table, striving to maintain perfect calm as he explained the final fate of all Kepral's sufferers, including himself. "Eventually, we suffocate."

"Then... don't live on Kahje?" she suggested, sounding a bit disbelieving. "Or use breathers."

"Drell have a very close relationship with the hanar," he explained, though he didn't fully expect her to understand. Humanity needed no one, as was obvious by their fierce independent streak. The drell had no choice. "We rely on each other. The best we can do is keep our homes very dry inside."

"Can't they do something about it?" she asked. Her tone was a bit surprised, spoiled perhaps by medical advances that made her own species distinctly harder to kill, and the network of scientists dedicated to making sure they stayed that way. Drell only had a few hundred thousand in their entire population. There were far fewer scientists concerned with _their_ survival.

"The hanar have funded a genetic engineering program," he explained, leaning forward onto his elbows. "They should be able to adapt us." He tilted his head as he continued without looking at her, staring forward instead into nothingness. "The project has only been running for a few years. I don't believe my body will still draw breath by the time it bears fruit."

"Are you going to be alright til the end of the mission?" she asked. Again, he was grateful that the question seemed practical, rather than emotionally charged. He preferred not to be fussed over.

"I should be fine for another eight to twelve months," he replied matter-of-factly. He had come to terms with this timeline, and it wasn't difficult to repeat now. "The more time I spend in humid environments, the faster it progresses." He came to a jump conclusion and added on, "I think it's safe to say that by the time my body is incapacitated we'll be victorious... or dead. Either way, I won't be a burden to you."

"Is there anything we can do here?" she asked. "The Normandy has a state-of-the-art medical bay."

He lowered his head a touch. He thought he had pegged Shepard, but she surprised him. She was practical, yes, but her offer to put the ship's resources into treating him – though naïve – was a kind one.

"No, thank you," he refused flatly. "It's being attended to." He explained, lest she try to broach the subject again. "If the finest medical minds in the hanar Illuminated Primacy can't solve the problem, I doubt your ship's medic could."

All the same, he added, "Thank you for your concern. Trust me. This won't affect my performance."

Her tone was a little kinder, but still insistent as she replied. "You should give Dr. Chakwas a chance. She's a tough old bird, hates being told what she can't accomplish. She might at least make you more comfortable."

He blinked rapidly, briefly recalling the polite older woman who had come to see him. She didn't strike him as particularly fearsome, but then he was not very well acquainted with humans in general. Perhaps she had some hidden power only Shepard knew about it. "I will go to see her," he agreed, since he had already made the promise anyway.

"Good," she replied simply, and then she continued, "And Krios? If this _does_ start to affect your performance, I want to know about it. I don't need anyone 'taking one for the team' when we have plenty of healthy people ready to take your place."

He lifted his chin. He had to admit, he was a bit surprised at her tone. He knew Shepard's training was more military than civilian but he had never answered to anyone in quite this way before, not even the hanar. He was used to dealing more on a job to job basis, where loyalty didn't particularly matter and so long as he finished his work, the employer was happy. He could already tell this would be vastly different. Shepard was already more involved than most of his employers, took a great deal more responsibility in him and expected it in return. That would take some getting used to.

"Of course," he replied at last, resting his hands across the table.

He didn't see her nod, but he imagined she did. "Okay," she said, sounding satisfied, and then he heard her footsteps retreating from the room.

He blinked, his brow furrowing. He lifted his hands before him and rubbed them together thoughtfully, thoughtfully. Long after she was gone, his thoughts remained on the Commander and on the mission she had hired him to do. He wondered what would become of it.

* * *

She had to admit, of all the new crew members she had recruited so far – Miranda, Jacob, Mordin, and Thane – the drell fascinated her most of all. Miranda was pretty straight forward. She was the one who had engineered the project to bring her back to life, and was genetically modified to be perfect in almost every way. She was full of herself and didn't think much of the Commander, but Shepard didn't think much of her, either – the big-arse. Jacob was a soldier through and through and could be counted on to behave that way. Mordin was far and away smarter than anyone around him and his thoughts moved faster than his mouth could carry him. He spoke in broken fragments and in ideas that half the time went right over her head, but he was efficient. She appreciated that.

And then there was Thane. He was... unexpected. If she owned herself truthfully, she had expected an assassin to be more like those in the holovids – unfeeling and loyal to no one but themselves. How else could one kill indiscriminately for money? But upon meeting him, he didn't seem that way at all. He prayed for forgiveness after his kills, and spoke with blunt honesty about himself, his disease, and his mortality. His honesty only seemed to inspire more questions, though, and she found herself moving to visit him in his room more quickly than she had anticipated.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" she asked. Her curiosity coated her voice like sugar, sweetening her nosiness.

"Not at all," he replied, and she could tell he meant it. He turned halfway in his seat so that he might look at her.

She gestured softly with one hand, a shoulder rising in a subtle shrug of interest. "The drell live on the hanar homeworld, don't they?" she asked, repeating the information from their last conversation.

"Yes," he replied, and readily volunteered more information. "I know many think the hanar difficult to understand. It's just that they are very formal with those they don't know. We know them quite well."

He understood the look of skepticism that crossed her face. The hanar, after all, were a species of sentient squid-like creatures who spoke of themselves in the third person – 'This one is happy to see you' – and practiced a religion most didn't understand. They were very foreign, and it was hard for outsiders to comprehend them.

"If you ever get close enough to a hanar that they tell you their Soul Name," he reasoned in what he thought was a helpful way, "you would find them warm."

"I thought that hanar only let very close friends know their Soul Name," she replied.

"Most of my commissions were for hanar," he explained. "I grew close to my regular contacts." He continued, "Soul Names tend to be poetic. A hanar known for his cynicism might take a name that means 'Illuminates the Folly of the Dancers.'"

She nodded, and then continued with apparent interest. "Hanar talk using bioluminescence. That's more of an obstacle than their politeness."

"True," he agreed practically. "Many drell have had their eyes genetically modified to perceive their higher frequency flashes. I had the treatment," he confessed. "I can't tell the difference between a dark red and black, but I can see ultraviolet light as a silver color."

_Note to self_, the mischievous part of her said before she could stop herself, _order Thane a red and black Cerberus uniform. And sunglasses. _ She forced such silly thoughts aside, a smirk threatening on one corner of her mouth but she was able to keep it in check. She cleared her throat and, having been distracted by her inner thoughts, changed easily to another topic. Truthfully, it was one that interested her more, because she understood it less.

"When you 'pray for the wicked'," she asked inquisitively, "who exactly are you praying to?"

"That depends on the circumstance," he replied. "To find my target I speak with Amonkira, Lord of Hunters. When I act to defend another – Arashu, Goddess of Motherhood and Protection. And when I have taken my target, I speak to Kalahira, Goddess of Oceans and the Afterlife."

She lifted an eyebrow doubtfully. "Oceans and afterlife don't seem to have much in common."

His eye ridges rose subtly. He was glad she was showing a real desire to understand, rather than simply asking to be polite, and he answered readily. "Consider: the ocean is full of life, yet it is not life as you and I know it. To survive there we must release our hold on land. Accept a new way to live. So it is with the death. The soul must accept its departure from the body. If it can't, it will be lost."

She bobbed her head thoughtfully. She didn't agree with him, the idea of having to 'accept' death, but she understood it. Perhaps it was different for her though; according to her detractors, she had no soul, after all. So when she died (again) it would just be more nothingness. Not that it really frightened her. It had to be better than the constant struggle of life, right?

"I didn't know that drell had many gods," she said, returning her focus to him.

"It's one of our older beliefs," he clarified. "Many embrace the hanar Enkindlers now, or the asari philosophies. The old ways are dying." He paused, his brow furrowing softly. "There are so many ways to interpret one's place in the universe. Who _needs_ the wisdom of our ancestors?" He gestured with a hand, waving off the sad note in his voice. "The younger generations don't believe they can help us fathom genetic engineering, orbital strikes, or alien races."

"Do you?" she asked. It was one of the questions she regularly had about people who believed in some higher being, particularly older religions that didn't account for the rest of the world. Take her friend Ashley and the Bible, for instance. The Bible said nothing of the alien races the humans had encountered once they started space travel, so how could she still believe in the book at all? How was the religion helpful if it didn't account for the new technology that made their lives so vastly different now? She had the rare opportunity to ask Thane that of his own gods, and she eagerly awaited his answer.

"They help me," he stated simply. And she couldn't very well argue with that. In the end, she supposed that was really all that mattered.

He unfolded his hands to gesture lightly at her. "I understand humanity has many different religions as well," he said. He was clearly looking to unobtrusively inquire after her own beliefs, and she was in no way unhappy about sharing so she shrugged lightly.

"None that I subscribe to," she replied frankly.

His brows twitched downward faintly – contemplative, rather than judging. "Do you... 'subscribe' to anything?" he asked.

She smirked, her impishness finally getting the better of her. She used his own words against him, remembering the remark he had made in Dantius towers. "Destruction and chaos," she told him.

A breath escaped his nose – not quite a laugh, but a brief, soft acknowledgment of her repartee. "I see," he replied.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement at his reaction, but she gestured politely to him. "Thanks for answering my questions."

"Of course."

"Oh!" she added, turning back before she had fully left the world. "You're going to be a part of the shore party for the next mission: Haestrom. It's a planet where the sun is so hot it scorches flesh alive in direct sunbeams." She shrugged. "I figure that ought to be arid enough for ya."

He wasn't used to his illness being taken so lightly and another uncertain laugh breathed out of him. "Very well."

She exited the room, and when the doors closed behind her the life support plant seemed decidedly empty. He lifted his chin softly.

* * *

He paced slowly back and forth down the length of the life support plant, hands clasped behind his back and footfalls silent. He wasn't usually much of a pacer. His reptilian metabolism made it more comfortable to conserve energy than consume it when he had down time, but today he was unable to sit still. He had meditated. He had prayed. He had even tried deliberately to escape into memories. Nothing would satisfy. Instead, he paced, and the nerves he felt were at the very least controlled.

He meandered back to the end of the room, his idle steps taking him towards the window. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders high and tilting his neck to try to release a little tension. He blinked through the window blankly. And then his brow ridges pulled together deeply when his eyes lit on an unexpected sight.

Shepard stood at the end of the Engine room walkway several floors below him, in the large, open room that housed the arc reactor. She leaned her hands on the railing, her eyes turned up onto the large orb with its surrounding lightning energy flashing all around her. She did not notice him. He watched curiously.

Her brow was tight, and she seemed incapable of standing still, constantly fidgeting with some unspoken emotion that wouldn't be quieted. When staring up into the arc reactor didn't help, she turned and paced back and forth along the short width of corridor, her eyes turned down to the grated floor beneath her. She crossed her arms over her ribcage and rubbed the back of her knuckles with a thumb, spinning and stepping and spinning again.

She stopped, raised her gaze, and took in a deep breath. And then he was very shocked to see her simply _sink_ beneath the weight of whatever troubled her. She turned around, pressed her back against the wall of a console, and slid slowly to the floor. He could no longer see her, but his expression was concerned.

He wasn't sure what he planned to do. He was certain he didn't have the words to soothe her. Nevertheless, he moved out of life support and into the crew deck beyond, where people were currently taking dinner in the mess hall. He briefly glanced across them, as if they might offer some clue as to their captain's distress. They did not, but one line caught his attention.

"Well I guess we better head back down to the Engine room," a man said, though he seemed in no hurry to do so.

"We still have ten minutes. I'm spending them up here," replied a female.

He stepped silently into the elevator nearby, and punched the button for the lower floors. The doors closed, locking out the others no matter what their final decision might be.

His steps carried him slowly down the gangway in the Engine room. She sat on the floor in defeat, her arms resting on her knees and her head leaning back against the controls behind her. Her expression was oddly blank, only the tightness in the corners of her closed eyes giving her disquiet away. He paused before her, blinking as he inspected the Commander he served.

And then, as if she felt his presence through some sixth sense, her eyes slowly opened. Their gazes met, but neither of them said anything for a long while. He hoped she might begin. When she didn't, he spoke gently, but simply.

"The Engineers return."

He slowly reached down a hand to help her up, and she blinked at the hand without speaking. At last, she accepted the help and he pulled her easily back to her feet.

* * *

He was not surprised when her next visit came more quickly, just hours after they returned from Haestrom and the retrieval of her former teammate. He had to admit, he had been surprised by the level of loyalty she showed to the quarian, Tali'Zorah, one of the few who had been with Shepard when she defeated the Geth and saved the Citadel. More surprising than that, though, was the way Zorah hardly needed any convincing to join Shepard in her mission against the Collectors. He could understand his own willingness to risk his already short life. Zorah was a young woman and had everything to live for, yet she was not concerned with the risk, either.

In fact, she seemed quite convinced that whatever the advertised odds said, Shepard was capable of pulling them through. He wasn't sure whether the faith she placed in the Commander was inspiring, or simply alarming. Whatever the case, he realized that the way Shepard's friends believed in her was a point of interest for him, and he was glad when she came to see him again.

"Have a few minutes to talk?" she asked politely.

"Certainly," he agreed readily. He glanced over his shoulder at her, but she moved into his line of sight. She came to a stop at his window and looked out onto the arc reactor – in fact, looking exactly down on the spot where he had saved her from the embarrassment of discovery by the Engineers. Her red eyebrows knitted together.

"If you don't mind my saying," she told him lightly, "you don't really seem like an assassin."

He wondered what exactly an assassin was supposed to be like. "You've spent too much time fighting thugs who think custom painted armor makes them professionals," he replied, that old disdain coloring his words again. "The hanar trained my body for this role since I was six years old."

She turned partway to look at him, her eyes narrowed in distaste. "You've been killing since you were six?"

"Of course not," he replied. "I didn't make my first kill until I was twelve." Her brow lifted and she turned back to face the arc reactor, but he gathered that in her eyes 'twelve' wasn't much better than 'six.' "They were training me," he explained about his childhood. "I was not to be used and thrown away. I was an investment."

Her tone was sharp as he jerked back to respond. "You were a child, not an investment!"

He immediately backed down. Had he touched a nerve? "I've given you the wrong idea," he explained, struggling to find the words. "They valued me. Yes, as a resource, but also as a person. They... regretted their need for me."

She didn't exactly seem convinced by his explanation, but she turned her attention back to the window and let the matter drop. Instead, she shook her head softly. "The hanar," she said, a note of disbelief in her voice. "Excessively polite, worship the Protheans?" She shrugged lightly. "They don't seem the type to train assassins."

"Every species trains assassins," he argued. "The hanar are only unusual in that they need other species to do the killing for them. They have a strong grip and natural toxins, but have you ever seen one move quickly outside of water, or fire a gun?"

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "Why did your parents agree to this?" she asked, and based on the stiffness in her posture he gathered that it was a matter of some contention with her. He hoped he could explain it so that she would understand.

"The agreement was made under the Compact," he said. "It was an honor for my family."

"The Compact?" she asked, turning a questioning gaze over her shoulder.

He nodded, and gestured softly as he expounded. "We live on the hanar homeworld because they rescued us – some of us – from extinction. We owe them our lives. That is the Compact."

He seemed to have captured her interest, because she turned fully around to face him as she asked, "What exactly are the terms of the Compact?"

"There are many things the hanar can't do, even with mechanical aid," he told her, moving his hands apart and then folding them back together again. "They ask drell to assist them."

"Why was your race going extinct?" she asked with interest. She wouldn't quite call herself an anthropology buff or anything, but she enjoyed learning about other species. It was probably why she got along with aliens so well, and the drell were even more fascinating than most because everyone knew so little about them. To hear their history was a unique opportunity.

"Overpopulation," he replied summarily. He tilted his head softly as he considered the word, and then continued. "That must sound trite to you," he guessed, "Humans developed mass effect drive before the problem became acute.

"Our homeworld, Rakhana, had few resources. We hadn't even developed fusion power when the soil began to fail from overuse and pollution." He gestured with one hand. "The hanar found us a century ago. They sent hundreds of ships, evacuated thousands of us." He paused, his voice despairing. "Billions more had to be left behind."

"What's the state of Rakhana now?" she asked. Couldn't they go back, avoid this Kepral's Syndrome?

He paused, considering the question. "Do you read your philosophers?" he asked. "A man named Thomas Hobbes?"

She shook her head no. She hadn't even completed high school until she became a Marine – intellectualism wasn't really 'her thing.'

He quoted it to her. "'When all the world is overcharged with inhabitants, the last remedy of all is war, which provideth for every man, by victory or death.' As Rakhana died around them, my people slaughtered each other for mouthfuls of water, crumbs of food."

She lowered her eyes silently as she considered this end to the drell homeworld, and was suddenly grateful that humanity had evolved along the path that it did. Not that they didn't have their fair share of strife. In fact, now that she thought about it there were still countries on Earth that warred in exactly the same way he talked about. Hell, she had to fight the same way in the poor undercity of New York. The humans were only lucky in that their infighting only claimed a few percentages of them, and _she_ was lucky that she wasn't among them.

But things were different once she joined the Alliance, just as things were now different for him. "You no longer work for the hanar," she pointed out. "You're freelance. What changed?"

He considered the question for half a moment, before responding, "I was asleep for a long time, yes? I paid no attention to what my body was asked to do. But then – "

His voice changed, becoming stiff and faraway. Her eyes narrowed, and she watched carefully as his eyes seemed to zone out, as if he was seeing something she couldn't see. He described the scene he watched as if it wasn't of his own accord.

"Laser dot trembles on the skull," he said. "One finger twitch, he dies. Then, the smell of spice on the spring wind. Sunset-colored eyes defiant in the scope. The laser dances away."

He seemed to come back to himself, blinking down at the table and the room around him. He readjusted himself and folded his hands again before him. "My apologies," he said. "Drell slip into memories so easily."

"Was that one of your assassinations?" she asked with interest. She didn't even realize she had become so caught up in his story, that she was no longer paying attention to what was appropriate to ask or not. Apparently, he hadn't been paying attention to what was appropriate to _tell_ or not, either, because he was obviously caught off guard by her question.

"Ah," he said, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes. Perhaps we can discuss it later," he suggested. "I've wasted too much of your time."

With that, she could tell the conversation was over, so she shrugged. "Suit yourself. I have to go see Miranda anyway," she replied. Her tone was not in the least happy about seeing the Cerberus loyalist.

In her wake, the assassin was left wondering just how he had got so far during a simple conversation as to share that particular memory, and whether she would be forward enough to be ask about it the next time they spoke. Part of him hoped she wasn't, but he felt that was probably wishful thinking. He would face it when the time came.

* * *

"Have a few minutes to talk?"

He had become almost used to her visits now, and was not surprised that she came to him after a mission against the Blue Suns mercenaries. He was starting to think these visits with her crew were the way she wound down from her violent work, and it was no great hardship for him.

"If you wish," he told her.

She joined him at the table, taking the seat he had placed specifically for her. It made the meeting seem less formal, and more friendly, like she wasn't just passing through to check in on him as a part of her captain's duties. It was a pleasant thought.

"The last time we talked, you started speaking about a past event as if you were watching it," she stated, obviously curious about this phenomenon.

"Drell have perfect memories," he told her plainly. "We can relive any moment in our lives with perfect clarity. It's difficult to control at times," he admitted. "Some of us disappear into... Mmm." He searched for the word, his eyes lifting to the ceiling. "Let's call it solipsism."

"What do you mean... solipsism?" she asked, pronouncing the word very slowly, as if it were completely foreign to her.

He took a moment to find the words to explain. "When a memory feels as real as life, it's as valid as life," he said. "Thinking about a moment brings back the smell of cut grass, the warmth of another's hand on yours, the taste of another's tongue in your mouth." He leaned forward on his elbows, watching her reaction with interest. "Wouldn't you rather lose yourself in such a memory than spend the night alone, staring at walls of metal and plastic?"

She lifted an eyebrow, that hint of a smirk tugging at her cheek the way it did when she had a thought she wasn't sure she should share. "Is _that_ what you do down here all the time?" she asked. She was clearly amused, _and_ taking his admission farther than he intended.

A breath escaped him in equal amusement, and he lowered his gaze to the table humbly. "Lately I have spent a great deal of time reviewing my life," he admitted, although clearly pulling her back from whatever fantastical imaginings she was leaping to.

Her brows moved thoughtfully, and she tilted her head as she spoke. "Isn't there a chance you could lose yourself in bad memories as well?"

"Of course," he admitted. "Remembering the times I've taken bullets is... unpleasant. But I can look at my knee and see it's not shattered. The memories that are hard to escape are those of despair."

"You can remember _everything_ that happened in your life?" she asked, as if she found it hard to fathom.

"Nearly," he qualified, sitting forward again. "I expect if we remembered the birth trauma, we'd never recover from it."

She continued, still in that completely dumbfounded way. "You can re-live _every_ assassination you've ever made?"

"In perfect detail," he agreed. "Every mistake I made. Every target's last breath."

Her expression changed somewhat, and he could tell she was about to pry. The look on her face simply screamed of a curiosity she probably shouldn't speak aloud, but she was Shepard and she was going to anyway. "Do you ever feel any guilt?" she asked.

"Guilt?" he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. "No," he admitted, "I've never felt any particular guilt about my contracts. My employers killed them," he asserted. "My body was only the tool they used. If you kill a man with your gun, do you hold the gun responsible?"

She argued with that point – not because she disagreed with his opinion, he quickly realized, but with his analogy. Perhaps there was something of the debater in Commander Shepard. "My gun can't decide right from wrong," she pointed out. "You clearly do."

"My soul does," he agreed. "My body is merely flesh, flesh whose reflexes were honed to kill." He shook his head lightly, but he was gratefully aware that she was only prompting him for explanation and not forcing him to defend himself. So he commented on an observation he was starting to formulate about humanity's perception of his species. "Drell minds are different from humans," he decided. "We see our body as a vessel, and accept that it is not always under our control."

Her sense of humor again surfaced, assuming control of her conversation. "So if I shot you dead right now," she began, quirking an eyebrow up over laughing – and challenging – eyes, "a drell court wouldn't convict me?"

"You'd be guilty because you chose to shoot me," he pointed out, the corner of his mouth threatening to pull back at her deliberate naivety. He returned her subtle challenge lightly. "If my reflexes caused _me_ to draw and fire when I saw your gun come up, _I_ would be innocent." Her smirk blossomed fully on her lips as she nodded in concession to his counterpoint, and he continued.

"Humans often believe in a soul distinct from the body," he pointed out. "A spirit capable of moral reasoning that lives on after the body's death. Our belief is just a bit more literal."

She was glad to see that his face had become less serious as their talk went on. It made her feel less like she had to stop the inevitable turn of her mind to humor and teasing. It gave her the courage to ask something she already knew he didn't want to talk about, but thanks to his lightened expression she felt bold enough to do so.

"The last time we talked you remembered one of your assassinations," she began, "something about... sunset-colored eyes?"

She was almost sorry she asked when she watched the lightness she had just been admiring leak slowly from his face. "Ah," he replied. "That time," he added uselessly, and by the tone in his voice she could tell it was an unwilling remembrance. "A bystander noticed my spotting laser, and threw herself between me and the target." He said the line dismissively, as if trying to quickly explain a moment that really had much more meaning. His eyes drifted away from her as he continued, this time with a little more feeling. "She couldn't see me... but she stared me down."

Her voice was gentler as she asked, but she couldn't stop herself from wondering, "It was odd that you just blurted that out. Just another vivid drell memory?"

"Not – " he began, and then corrected himself, "No." He paused a moment, gauging her with a look. "She was a vivid person," he admitted.

"Did you take the shot?" she asked, now more interested than ever.

He lowered his eyes. "Not... that day."

When he seemed unwilling to volunteer more information, she took the hint and stood from her seat. "I should get back to my duties," she confessed. She always spent more time down here than she meant to, and Kelly had been bugging her for a signature or something. She didn't know. She never paid attention to the cheerleadery yeoman.

"Shepard," Thane stopped her, his eyes turned her way. She was surprised by his sincerity as he continued, "I appreciate these chats we have."

She shrugged softly, hating to take too much credit for his complimentary tone. "You've spent a lot of your life alone, Thane." She figured that's the only reason her uninteresting conversation kept him entertained. Hell, all she did was play twenty questions about his species and his background. Hardly groundbreaking for him.

He laughed bitterly through his nose in admission of the truth in her words. "Work fulfilled me," he said. "Reading. I barely spoke to anyone outside of my family." His voice became thoughtful as he added, "It seems there will be no one to mourn me when I die. You're the only friend I've made in ten years."

She again tried to belittle the effect she was having on him, and tilted her head. "The crew's a pretty diverse bunch. You should get out of here, talk to some of them." She thought about it for a second and added, "Only, don't start with Jack." The crazy ex-prisoner was meaner than a rattlesnake and could turn Mother Theresa into a hermit.

His laugh was more genuine this time. "I shall... consider it," he offered. She nodded, and then began to move off towards the doorway. She paused though, and turned back to him.

"Can I make a suggestion?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "Of course," he encouraged. She was going to do it anyway, after all.

"Start with Chakwas," she told him. And then she added in an entirely different, lightly chiding voice, "You still haven't gone to see her."

He felt like a small child who had been caught avoiding his homework, and he lowered his head in concession. She didn't berate him, though, and merely left him with that thought.

Later that day, while the rest of the crew was taking their evening meal, he at last went to see the medic. And she was indeed a 'tough old bird.' Shepard, it seemed, had been right. She was right about a great many things.

* * *

Life support was dark around him, only the light from the nearby machinery lighting the stillness. Despite the late hour he was not asleep, or even in his cot trying. Instead, he sat at his table, his hands cupped together and his eyes closed. He tried unsuccessfully to block out the thoughts that threatened to consume him, to assume the emotional hush of meditation, but he found he couldn't. He at last opened his eyes to peer through his window, seeing without seeing the arc reactor beyond. He blinked blankly.

The sound of a door opening behind him raised his curiosity, and he turned to glance over his shoulder. He listened closely to the sound of feminine footsteps coming from the elevator and then retreating down the hallway near his door. They passed by, and again the whoosh of doors opening sounded. He checked his omnitool for the time, and his brows knit together.

He stood from his seat, his muscles protesting the sudden movement after many hours in the same position. His side hitched, a side effect of the lungs underneath straining for oxygen. When the pain dissipated he stood more upright and moved slowly to his doorway.

The doors opened and he paused, staring silently into the darkness of the crew deck. The door to the observation room next to his stood open and he stepped very slowly – silently – through the opening to peer inside.

He was not surprised to see Shepard. He had recognized her footsteps or he wouldn't have bothered coming out at all. Still, he _was_ somewhat alarmed to see her up and about at this time of night, and the amount of alcohol she was mixing for herself did nothing to ease his nerves. He stepped into the room further, approaching curiously but quietly. When she reached to pour herself another glass, he found his body reacting quite without his permission – reflex. He touched her wrist lightly to stop her pouring another.

He was almost surprised when his skin met hers and her eyes jumped up to his. He breathed in, caught off guard by his own actions and having no idea what to say. But the rest of him quickly caught up. Shepard had been a friend to him when he had none. He wished only to return the favor.

His fingers slipped lightly from her wrist.

* * *

She spun a holopad boredly on top of her desk, her cheek resting on her fist. She was supposed to be doing paperwork, specifically signing off on the report Kelly had written to the Alliance detailing everything she had found on the wreckage of the original Normandy. She had made it through maybe one line before her mind began to drift elsewhere – anywhere, really except on the responsibility before her.

Her eyes drifted to the picture of the SR1 which Kelly had used to replace the photo she had removed of Kaidan. It was a fitting gesture, and she hated to admit how right Kelly had been to put the new photo there. She hated when the yeoman took it upon herself to mess with her stuff (except for feeding her fish, which they both knew she would never remember to do.) In this case, the yeoman was perfectly right, however. The photo of the old Normandy, the ship that had taken her to save the Citadel, was a much better memory to keep than the ex-boyfriend who broke her heart. She set the photo back down onto her desk.

Her gaze then drifted to the helmet she had been wearing when the ship was attacked by the Collector ship. She still remembered what happened that night with startling clarity, from the first shake in the floor to watching the lasers slice through the hull of her beloved ship with stunning ease. She remembered ordering Kaidan to leave her behind, and hauling Joker out of the pilot's seat kicking and screaming. She remembered the explosion that separated her from her crew, and set her careening out into dead space.

And she remembered that first gutwrenching reaction when she realized she was quickly running out of oxygen.

Her eyes shifted and she caught her reflection in the glass, instead of looking through it, and she noticed her short hair sticking up in every direction. She laughed through her nose, running her fingers through the 'shock of red hair' uselessly. She smiled to herself, shaking her head at her own silliness. How dumb had she been about the whole hair thing? Still, she loved the new look, and hey, it was never in her way anymore. There was something to be said for that. She was like freakin' G.I. Jane.

Remembering her hair also reminded her of the conversation she and Thane had the night before. She didn't think they had ever talked for quite so long. They had talked often, sure, but always just for a half hour or so before some mission or another, in between all of her many duties as Captain. Last night, they had just talked for hours. It was definitely refreshing, the kind of interaction she honestly didn't think she would have again before she took on the Collectors. She was grateful. If she died on this mission, as was likely, at least she could say she'd had one good conversation before she went.

Two, if she could squeeze one in now. She suddenly stood from her seat, jabbing the button on the holopad that said she approved everything Kelly had written. She hadn't read it, but she was sure it was perfect, and if it wasn't she could annoy the redhead about it later. For now, she decided, she had real life to attend to.

* * *

His eyes opened slowly, the cold metal ceiling of the life support plant the only face that greeted him. Light from the arc reactor played across the surface, like the unsteady light through the filter of the ocean ceiling, and for a moment he watched it dance like waves. It felt like home.

He sat suddenly upright, swinging his legs off of his cot. He simply couldn't fall asleep, unfortunately. He hadn't got much rest the evening before and had been hoping to make it up with a nap that afternoon, but instead he found himself caught up in memories that wouldn't cease. It wasn't that they were unpleasant. Indeed, they were perhaps some of the most pleasant recollections he had made in years. They were simply unexpected, and not exactly conducive to his current purpose.

But sleep, he supposed, was something he had done without before.

Strangely, most of the memories he had been reliving had taken place right there in the same room. Something had started him on the path – he wasn't sure what – and he had spent hours remembering conversations with his Commander. Some of them were pleasant – most of them, in fact. Some of them were not. All of them, however, had come to shape his opinion of her, which grew in esteem seemingly by the hour.

Even remembering their disagreements was somehow rewarding. She was a belligerent fighter, scrappy and relentless, and he was sure there was no 'winning' a battle with her. There was only to escape with as little damage as possible. At first, her stubborn streak had frustrated him, but now he had come to appreciate it. He was beginning to believe they might defeat the Collectors simply because she was too damn obstinate to lose.

As much as he appreciated her, though, he wished she would leave him be so he could sleep. Barring that, he supposed the only thing to do would be to track her down and cease his mind wondering about her. So he stood from his cot and moved in the direction of his doors.

They slid open for him, and for her at the same time, resulting in a spectacular collision.

"Oof!" she said as she bounced off of him, nearly falling back against the door frame. He caught her around the waist instead. For a moment they were each frozen, their brains buzzing to catch up with the reflexes of their bodies, and then they both reacted at the same time. He quickly righted her and she released the hold she had taken of his biceps.

"Sorry!"

"Don't be."

"I was – "

"Did you – ?"

"You first."

"No, you."

Her face broke into a grin of amusement and she lifted an eyebrow. "I was just coming to see you."

He admitted, "I was leaving to look for you."

"Oh," she replied. Well. Okay then. Her other brow lifted to meet the first. "Did you... want to grab lunch?" she asked, gesturing to the mess hall.

He nodded once and she nodded in return, giving a pause before finally adding. "Then you should probably move, because I don't have room to squeeze past you."

He glanced down at the bare inch that separated them. His hands were stashed safely behind his back, and his expression at realizing their closeness was almost comical. He obediently took a step backwards.

She watched him with an amused expression, and then turned to lead them both out of the room. "I wonder what's on the menu," she said curiously, mind already leaping ahead to the subject of food.

"I recommend the salad," he suggested.

Her voice was suspicious. "Is it juju jelly salad?"

"It contains some of the same ingredients as the tea you like," he explained.

"Not a chance in Hell."

He laughed.


	14. Shiver

_A/N: For Alia92, who inspired an additional chapter. Fluff, ftw!_

* * *

She silently waved two fingers over her shoulder, and she could hear the almost-silent footsteps signaling her team's compliance. They moved stealthily down the hallway, their progress slow but unmarked and that was the main thing. The metal walls of the factory spread out on either side of them, cold and empty, their reflections mimicking their movements in the brushed steel. They moved with the deliberate sloth of a mime waiting to get his message across to his audience, and the machinery around them were in that interminable pause between sight and recognition. So they kept miming, and their footsteps progressed gradually down the hallway.

All at once, the hall opened up to a large room with mech after mech lining the walls. She stood up straighter as their lifeless eyes looked down on them, dead as rocks.

"Nothing," she announced.

"Hmph," Grunt huffed as he emerged beside her. "Too bad." She looked over her shoulder and watched Thane lower his rifle. He looked back at her and shook his head to say he saw nothing, either.

"Spread out," she commanded with a shrug. "See if you can find anything useful."

They did as they were told, picking up credit chits, raiding the first aid stations, whatever they could find. Grunt called out triumphantly when he stumbled on a weapons cache, and Thane broke the lock off a footlocker to find thermal clips enough to meet even her demand for them. She climbed large metal stairs by two to find a control panel overhead.

"Hey look," she greeted as they both came in to see what she'd found. But as was perfectly obvious, she hadn't even bothered to rifle through drawers. She was too busy staring at the shiny. There was only one screen active, and all it said was 'PRESS ENTER TO ACTIVATE SYSTEMS.' The drell and the krogan exchanged a look.

"Garrus?" she said over her radio. The turian had taken over EDI's job for the mission, if only because they were all bored senseless from the over-long trip through Citadel space on their FTL engines – so as not to have to use the relay and alert anyone to their presence. "How many units of platinum do we still need to upgrade the Normandy?" she asked.

His uninterested voice returned to her over her radio. "More than a hundred thousand units."

She eyed the massive crates in the middle of the assembly room – crates big enough to crush a human with untold numbers of resources inside.

"And how many hours mining would that be?" she asked.

"I dunno, Shepard..." he said, clearly avoiding even _thinking_ about that much mining. "A few hundred, anyway."

The redhead nodded her head slowly. A few _hundred_ hours completing _the_ most boring task known to mankind? Just how much was she willing to risk to avoid that? Her eyebrows lifted as she considered it, staring at the stash more seriously. She glanced over her shoulder at her two teammates. Grunt cocked his shotgun. Thane took in a very long, steadying breath.

* * *

"I AM KROGAAAN!"

Shepard ducked behind a wall as a trio of LOKI mechs went up in an explosion, the blast shaking the ground beneath her feet and sending shrapnel past her shoulder. Far from begrudging Grunt his violence, she whistled in an impressed way, waiting for the flames to die down before she glanced into the hall again again.

"I told you pushing the button was a bad idea," Garrus called over the radio. Hey! How was she to know the entire facility was rigged to turn on intruders if they pressed the button? It wasn't as if there was a warning sign posted anywhere, like in convenience stores. 'Violators will be prosecuted.' Come on!

And anyway, it was nothing they couldn't handle. In fact, she was pretty sure at least two of them were having a... dare she say it... _blast_.

"You sound worried, Garrus!" she teased him as she inserted another thermal clip. She jumped out from behind her wall and sidestepped, firing round after round from her assault rifle before disappearing again behind cover, her shields blinking around her from the torture they had taken at the hands of the mechs. Garrus's voice crackled over the radio.

"No! Not worried! It's only a few hundred mechs and enough explosive material to blow you halfway to Palaven. Why would I be _worried?_" His usual sarcasm coated his words like butter, but she smirked.

"Grunt, you worried?" she asked the krogan, even as she stepped out to fire on oncoming enemies.

"Worried, ha!" he replied, reloading his shotgun. "This is no challenge."

She tossed a grenade, and mech parts went flying in every direction. "Overruled!" she told the turian.

"Why am I not surprised?" was his only response.

She dashed to a column, one littered with fewer bullet holes than her wall. Once there she bumped against Thane's shoulder, who was using the other side of the column as his own cover. A veritable ocean of mechs marched their way in carefully calculated lines, and she could see no conceivable way for them to get out of there unscathed. Any sane person would have been terrified, but no one had ever accused her of being that. She looked over at her comrade with a comical expression.

"Do the hanar have any tips about fighting mechs?" she asked curiously as she reloaded her thermal clip.

"Yes," he replied, glancing over his shoulder at her. His dark eyes met hers. "Don't activate them." A biotic field lit up around his hand and as he stepped out from cover, he flung the mechs in front of them to the ground.

Fighting a grin, Shepard set the ammo type on her gun with a click. "Now where's the fun in that?" She stepped out in the other direction to mow the mechs down with her assault rifle.

They ran forward as another wave of mechs retaliated, and Grunt charged ahead to their right. He fired off an impact shot that sent the front wave to the ground as Shepard vaulted over the first row of crates. She peppered the fallen mechs with shredder ammo, and they came apart at the seams as Thane followed her over the crates. Thane sent their scattered pieces shooting like missiles at the next wave, and Grunt climbed over the barrier himself. As a trio, they moved slowly forward.

She was starting to get the feeling that if they stayed here fighting mechs, they would never be through with them. There was a large clearing on one end of the room standing between her team and the exit, a long expanse with no cover. Nevertheless, as the factory threw an endless supply of mechs her way, she glanced at it often to gauge just how dangerous it really was. Comparatively, it was starting to look like the lesser of two evils

"We'll have to make a break for it," she announced to her team. She carefully aimed at a nearby tank marked with some kind of caution sign. Now _that_ was a sign she could get behind. It meant 'shoot at me, and bad things happen.' So she shot at it. It exploded, and sent mechs for many yards flying in every direction.

"Now!" She vaulted over the crate they all had been using as cover, making a dash for it. Thane's voice carried to her belatedly.

"Shepard!"

She got about halfway into the clearing beyond the last lines of crates before the hum of machinery to her right caught her off guard and she skid to a halt. Hidden behind another wall of crates, a heavy YMIR mech had been lying in wait. Proximity sensors must have been set off by her approach, because it immediately began to unfold, standing to its full height, its rocket launcher arming. As if in slow motion she glanced over her shoulder to confirm what her ears were hearing, her hair standing on end.

"Oh, _shit._"

She barely registered the mech before her body was reacting, instinctively, her training taking over. She dashed to get out of the way, but the enemies to her left made it nearly impossible. She could only make a straight shot backward, and hope she made it over the crates in time. Not unexpectedly, she didn't. She heard the scream of a rocket coming toward her and her pace doubled, but she couldn't escape the full brunt of the blast. It exploded just behind her heels and the force sent her careening through the air.

She didn't know which way was up, but when she smacked hard against the resource crates she had been heading for she was upside down. Her shoulder landed hard and the rest of her body followed, the back of her skull cracking against the metal, and then she collapsed in a heap onto the floor. She groaned, blinking through the fuzziness. The room was spinning, but she was sober enough to know she ought to try to find the floor and everything else would fall into place around it. She slowly gathered wits enough to look around.

She watched the inverted show go on. Thane bolted from the crates while the mech was concentrated on her and Grunt jumped out to pepper its armor with shotgun shells. Thane was so quick the YMIR didn't even have time to try to take aim at him. He rushed right up to him, leaped up with a biotic-powered push off from the robot's leg, and knelt agilely on the robot's shoulders. The mech stutter-stepped backwards, overbalancing for the drell's weight, but it was much too late. Biotic power crackled around his fist as he punched it down through the armored plastic surrounding the YMIR's brain. He ripped his hand back out, bursting with cables and circuitry, and the mech gave one last jerk of protest before it fell with a resounding thud to the ground below. Thane stood nimbly atop the mech's back and used the momentum of the fall to push off into a run.

Grunt was standing over her, shooting like crazy at enemies she couldn't see because they were behind her, and then suddenly Thane was hauling her over some obstacle rather ungracefully. "Shepard?" he asked when they were safely out of harm's way. "Are you alright?"

She concentrated on him a little too hard. "Is seeing two of you 'alright?'" She tried to sit up and realized somewhat belatedly that her right arm simply wouldn't respond to commands. "I can't move it," she explained.

"Let me help," he offered, extending a hand across himself to grip her defective wrist, and she allowed it, thinking he was going to help her up. Instead he took a firm hold with one arm and slammed hard against her shoulder with the other. She let out a deafening cry of pain and reacted instinctively, pushing him away from her forcefully. He wound up sprawled several feet away, looking up at her from his back.

"Sonofabitch!"

"Ha!" Grunt said glancing over his shoulder. "She's fine."

"Sorry," she apologized as she righted herself, holding her shoulder painfully. Now that she could feel her arm again, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Can you walk?" Thane asked practically, back on his feet again.

"Sure," she replied, even though she had no idea. But she pushed to her feet and was able to stay there, which was good enough in her book. The haze was clearing, and she thanked her lucky stars – not for the first time – that she never went anywhere without her helmet. See? Marine training taught her _something _useful.

"Here come more mechs," Grunt warned, though he still seemed ready to take on anything.

"Let's go," she agreed, and they booked it for the exit at last. She thought she was fine, but she stumbled harshly halfway down the hallway and Thane wedged himself without a word under her arm. She allowed him to help guide her out of the base, Grunt providing cover fire behind them all the way, until at last they made it to the shuttle. Thane carefully deposited her into a seat before loading in himself. Grunt seated himself on the edge of the door and shot mechs until they were so far away he couldn't anymore.

She looked up at the ceiling of the shuttle as the interior spun around her, trying her damnedest not to be sick before they got to the Normandy. When she looked straight ahead, Thane watched her with an expression of sincere concern.

* * *

A small crowd had gathered in the hangar when the shuttle came to a rest inside. Thane half-carried her as they stepped off of the vehicle but Garrus strode purposefully toward them. "I've got her," the drell announced but the turian wasn't hearing any of it.

"Haven't you done _enough?_" he asked as he forcefully pushed the assassin out of the way and pulled Shepard's arm over his own shoulder. Thane watched for a moment in dumbfounded silence before his expression fell and he tore his eyes away.

"I'm fine," she assured them both as Garrus lead her into the elevator.

"Yeah, and I'm white," Jacob replied as he followed them in and punched the button for the crew deck.

She cracked a half grin. "I knew it."

Grunt 'hmphed' as he trudged heavily past his abandoned teammate, his voice unimpressed. "Turians," he said, as if that explained Garrus's bad attitude. He moved off in the direction of the next deck, but Thane remained to wait for the next elevator, looking rather like a puppy who had been kicked.

* * *

He stood in the shadows, his body present though his mind was faraway in thought. The clock ticked regularly overhead, it's holographic hands creeping ever onward in perfect rhythm, a tiny sound in the ocean of his meditation. The doors to the med bay swept open and interrupted the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. Slowly he opened his eyes, finding Chakwas finally retreating from the medical bay and her patient within. The human doctor spotted him and her steps slowed. She approached him, her expression unfathomable.

"I thought you might be here," she said by way of greeting. The familiar tone in the doctor's voice caught him off guard. Though he often met with her for check ups, their relationship had always been strictly professional. She seemed like a perfectly likeable woman, but as with many others he simply hadn't taken the time to get to know her any better. Between herself and Shepard, however, there seemed a kind of bond and he supposed that had inspired her to be more open with him now.

""It's endearing, the way you two look out for each other. She often asks about you," the physician continued, shifting her weight to one foot. "I can't tell her anything, of course. We're a civilian vessel now. So she asks, 'How would an average Kepral's patient be doing this week, Doctor?'" She laughed softly. "No one ever accused her of subtlety."

He was surprised by Shepard's anxiety for him, but his concern for _her_ made him impatient. "Is she well?" he asked.

"Oh, of course," she replied, waving away his fear. "Just a bump to the head, a minor concussion. She'll be a bit sore tomorrow, but no worse for wear." She lifted her gray eyebrows. "I daresay the worst of it will be talking her out of going back for the resources you left."

He huffed, knowing she was only half joking. She hesitated a moment, crossing her arms over her chest, and then she gestured toward him with one hand. "She sends a message for you, specifically." The assassin tilted his head curiously, and she continued, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. "She says, 'stop blaming yourself or she'll come out here and kick your ass again.'" She shrugged her aging shoulders lightly.

For a moment he stared at the doctor wordlessly, his lips parting softly, and then he let out a rare half-laugh that might have developed fully had it been allowed to take root. He glanced back at the doctor and bent his head, acknowledging the order silently. Trust Shepard to give an order so blatant and humbling via messenger... and trust _only_ her to know him well enough to give it.

"Thank you, Doctor," he replied genuinely, and turned to leave for Life Support. A soft smile curled her lips as she watched him go.

* * *

There had been a steady stream of 'visitors' for her ever since she had exited the medical bay earlier that afternoon. It seemed once word got around that she was out, people steadily trickled through to see how she was doing. She was humbly surprised by the attention, and flattered. Tali had waited around well after breakfast, and Garrus had emerged as soon as he heard her voice. Grunt had made the trek, accidentally hit her in her bad shoulder, and escaped to the lower floors before he could do anymore damage. Miranda kept coming out to refill her tea and ask if Shepard was okay – she always was – and Mordin had come down to regale her with stories of similar dislocations he had been through, much to the dismay of the lunchers.

By the time the crowd thinned out in late afternoon she was tired and ready for a break from the chatter. When she thought no one was looking she very gingerly stood, carefully adjusting her shoulder inside of her sling so that it would sit properly, and then she looked up when she felt eyes upon her. Thane had paused in the entrance to mess hall, and had seen every wince. So much for secrecy.

"Hey," she greeted as she approached.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, watching her closely.

She shook her head lightly. "You don't have to worry about me. How are you?"

"No worse than ever," he replied, equally vague. "You needn't worry." And only because their responses were so incredibly similar, she let him get away with it, her lips threatening a smile. His eyes shifted across her face.

"So," she told him, gesturing with her good arm. "Sorry about... whatever I did back at the base."

"It was instinct," he told her simply.

"Oh, that's right!" she replied, smirking again. "I forgot, I don't have to apologize for instinct." She shrugged her good shoulder. "I take it back, then."

His own lips threatened a smirk. "I think I might be able to help you," he offered out of no where. She lifted her eyebrows.

"Help me?" she asked, and then her look became a little suspicious. "The way you 'helped me' when I couldn't sleep?"

"Not quite," he said, but she didn't exactly trust him and her narrowed eyes said as much. He stepped aside and gestured for her to walk next to him down the hall. Slowly, she accepted, though she kept a sidelong gaze on him to see if he tried to pull any crazy voodoo stuff on her again.

"I overheard your conversation earlier," he admitted, and she tried to remember what she had said but so much had been said to so many people that she couldn't recall anything standout. She wasn't about to admit that to someone with perfect memory, however, so she only said,

"Oh?"

He nodded, and paused before the doorway to the restroom across from life support – the male side. She stopped, too, and glanced between him and the doorway.

"That's the men's restroom," she pointed out lamely.

"Yes," he agreed. "I thought it would be less offensive to men if we were found inside."

She opened her mouth to respond but couldn't even formulate anything. Was he... propositioning her? She was all for a good scandal, don't get her wrong, but this was a bit out of nowhere. I mean, she was injured, and she was pretty sure she hadn't been discussing anything like that with anyone earlier, unless there was some drell slang word she didn't know about which somehow translated random English into 'hot bathroom sex.' Was this going to be one of those really awkward inter-species moments that they would both regret for as long as they knew each other? She let her gaze slide to him questioningly.

He let her boggle for a moment in silence before he stepped to the door and it opened to reveal a chair – her chair, from life support – butted up against a sink and after a brief moment of confusion, she remembered exactly what conversation he was referring to. She had been telling Jack her shoulder hurt so badly she couldn't even shampoo properly, and Jack told her she should have shaved it. Realization swept across her face and she rolled her eyes at her own mistaken assumption.

"My hair," she said, shaking her head at herself. And then, "That's nice of you, but..." Her voice trailed off, because truthfully the idea that she couldn't wash her own hair made her feel like a child, but he insisted.

"Sit," he invited, and after a moment more of hesitation she obligingly entered the restroom and took a seat as indicated.

"This is really embarrassing," she admitted, and then she gasped when he quite suddenly leaned the chair onto it's back legs, putting her off balance.

"Relax," he instructed as he rested the chair against the sink. She could now lay back with her head over the sink instead of having to pull awkwardly backwards. It was like being at a salon, only with a hotter stylist.

She tried, she really did, but she was not entirely successful doing as ordered. She did manage to wind down enough to settle comfortably in the chair without feeling like she needed to hold on, and then Thane turned on the faucet behind her. She swallowed, and glanced up at him, and when he met her eyes she immediately looked away. This was nuts. She felt like an idiot.

And then he lightly tucked a hand beneath her head and encouraged her to let him hold her up. "Lean back," he instructed, and she did so obligingly. He held her steadily and the warm water flowed over her scalp, slow and easy. She closed her eyes to keep from being splashed and relaxed into his hands. He carefully moved the water across her skin until all her hair was wet, and then let the water run a few minutes more just for effect. Once she had given over control, she found she quite enjoyed the sensation.

"Have you done this before?" she asked with amused curiosity as she heard the snap of the shampoo bottle.

"Bathed someone? I am a father," he said as if this made his answer obvious. And because her mind was what it was she wondered if that meant he had bathed his son, or if bathing the mother had resulted in the son.

"Shampooed," she corrected.

"No," he confessed as he worked the suds into her short hair. She was suddenly glad she had cut her hair, because the pixie cut wasn't more than a few inches at it's longest and she could feel everything. His fingers stroked through her hair and then pulled back gently, pushing the soap through her locks. He kneaded his hands softly against her scalp. "But I am a quick study."

And that he was. He took care with her, his hands shifting gently beneath the weight of her skull as he moved the soap and water through her hair, and never once let it get into her face or eyes. He turned her head this way and that, cupping with one hand and massaging softly with the other. She could feel the tension melting out of her neck and shoulders the longer he worked on her, and he kept it up long after it was necessary. She breathed deeply.

When he began to rinse the suds he was very careful, directing the water across her skin with deliberate touches so that it didn't run. The warm water fell naturally one way, his hands moved softly in another, and between his touch and the sound of the water she thought she understood for the first time in her life what it must be like to meditate. Her mind was perfectly, comfortably blank, but for the feel of his hands.

He let the water run for a few minutes after the suds were gone without any real purpose, his fingers coasting through her hair without direction. His voice carried to her lightly. "Shepard?" he asked, as if he thought she might have fallen asleep.

"Mmm?" she responded lazily.

"How is that?" he asked. He probably meant, 'is the water warm enough?' or 'did I rinse out enough of the shampoo?' but all she really noticed was that it felt fantastic.

"Amazing," she breathed. He took that as a sign and after a moment too brief he shut off the water at last. His hand at the nape of her neck shifted slightly as he reached for a towel. He laid it around her head to keep her from dripping as he gently lifted her back into her chair, and she relinquished her reclined position with a subtle sigh.

A large drop of water escaped the towel and rushed down her neck, puddling in the crook of her collar bone. He noticed it and gathered the towel so that he could hold it aloft with one hand. With the free hand he traced the path of the drop slowly, mussing the perfect line of wetness with the tips of his fingers until it disappeared beneath her tank top. She then felt him pull his touch lightly away, hovering, as if he were alarmed. She glanced over, following the path of his eyes back down to her skin and then she smirked.

"Goosebumps," she explained the phenomenon. "It's... a human thing."

"Is it unpleasant?" he asked, innocently.

"Uhhh," she began ungracefully, beating down the amusement in her voice. "No, not... no."

He pressed no further, and returned his hands to their work drying her hair. He didn't have any concept of how dry was dry enough for wet hair to be, but he had caught on that she was enjoying the _sensation_ more than anything and he kept it up for several minutes. When the towel was saturated, he dutifully folded it and set it aside and she opened her eyes with the realization that the pampering was now concluded. She breathed in deeply.

She could definitely get used to that.

He blinked down at her. "I think... I made a mistake? Your hair is..." he searched for a polite word but she just laughed.

"Yeah," she agreed, standing and looking at herself in the mirror. She brushed the stray locks down with her fingers but only a good combing would really put them into place, or at least as much into place as they ever were. "It takes a bit of styling," she admitted, finally giving up and turning back to him. She shrugged. "Humans don't have the luxury of waking up beautiful."

He reached up to push a lock of hair out of her face where she had just deliberately put it, apparently more comfortable with her hair now that he had a proper introduction. "You do not know your own beauty," he replied simply, tucking his hand back behind his waist. She looked up at him curiously, her eyes jumping between his as if it would yield better results, but she couldn't make it out. She had no idea what he was seeing.

The doors to the restroom burst open and she blinked over his shoulder. Zaeed blinked back. The eyebrow he lifted over his white eye spoke volumes, though he made no other acknowledgment of the pair as he made his way toward a urinal. Tthe sound of a zipper rung out, and the echo of his piss hitting the stainless steel bowl followed. Shepard's cheeks flushed.

_Romantic._

They made their way out of the restroom. "Thanks," she told him genuinely when they were in the hallway, "For the shampoo. I should probably go talk to Kelly. I haven't been to see her yet." She paused and gestured to him, "I'll catch up with you later?"

"Until then," he agreed.

* * *

"Dr. Chakwas?" He sat on the edge of the doctor's exam table, his chest bare but for the reflection of the holographic instruments which took constant measurements of his lung function. His voice was nervous, uncertain. The doctor immediately stood from her work, taking the stethoscope's ear pieces from their place.

"Yes?" she asked as she tucked the instrument around her neck.

"I... have a question," he began, before continuing, "A medical question."

She tilted her head softly, clearly surprised but pleasantly so. Thane was rarely interactive during their appointments. She got the impression he only came to her to allow the collection of data for the betterment of other drells, rather than expecting real improvement in his own life – and because Shepard made him. She was glad to see an interest from him, so she encouraged gladly. "Of course! Ask away."

He gestured toward her lightly, buying time. "It's about humans," he explained, and the doctor's expression did lose a little of her enthusiasm but it gained curiosity by a tenfold margin.

"Go on," she encouraged again.

He nodded before lifting his gaze to the doctor, and she couldn't tell whether he was bashful or simply lost for words. "Can you explain to me... what are 'goosebumps?'"

Her gray eyebrows climbed higher on her brow. "Goosebumps?" she repeated, amusement coloring her features. "Well, they're..." She took another look at him and decided to be a little more serious, since he was clearly serious in asking. So she reached behind her to pull a rolling stool forward and she took a seat on it, extending her feet slightly in front of her in a look that made her seem very businesslike and professional. Her tone was light and practical.

"They're an adaptation we don't really use anymore," she explained, her hands braided lightly atop her crossed knees. "Tiny muscles in the skin react to external stimuli and contract, showing as little bumps. It used to be it kept us warm, back when humans were... furrier. Now it's just something that happens when we're cold, or afraid, or occasionally... with a pleasing touch." A modest smile touched her features, but a knowing one that guessed more than she let on.

"I see," he replied. And because he hadn't exactly come up with a way to get himself out of this conversation once he was in it, he blinked silently at the doctor. She looked contentedly back at him, before finally letting him off the hook.

She stood, gesturing in a way that let him know he was allowed down from the exam table. "Your results look good. The exercise and keeping to Life Support seem to be helping," she told him as he dressed. And then, because she just couldn't help herself, she added.

"If you ever have any _other_ questions, Thane, you know where to find me."

He settled his jacket onto his shoulders, studying the woman a moment without speaking. And then he bowed in gratitude, and she returned the gesture with a bob of her head. She watched him leave with a cat that ate the cream grin and immediately settled down to send a note off from her private terminal.


	15. A Start

"Is this _really_ necessary?" she asked for the fourth time.

Kasumi finally assumed a soft note of agitation in her sing-song voice. "Shepard, you act as if you've never been in a dress before!"

The redhead pouted with annoyance as the thief dusted her cheeks with something pink and powdery. "Of course I've been in a dress before," she responded, her voice feigning more indignation than she really felt. "About once a year, at one of the silly award ceremonies they throw for me, which I only attend for the free booze."

Kasumi stopped working long enough to look into the Commander's uncommonly polished face. "You have never been on a date?" the thief asked, shocked. Shepard was forced to purse her lips, and defend herself against her own accusation.

"Yes," she replied, as if the answer was obvious, "I've been on dates." A series of flashbacks assaulted her for the brief break in conversation as Kasumi finished applying her blush: Kaidan looking better than _any_ man had a right to look in his tuxedo, forcing her to dance though he was about ten times the dancer she was, and laughing together as the wine began to go to their heads. She came back to the present.

"Truth be told," she admitted in a rare confession, "most of my relationships since I joined the Alliance have consisted of quickies in store rooms."

"I see," the more petite woman replied, allowing the confession to go by uncontested. "Well, you are in for quite a treat! Donovan throws some of the most exquisite parties in the galaxy. You should try to enjoy yourself, while you're there." She smirked beneath her hood. "There are plenty of store rooms in his mansion, if you run into anyone striking."

Shepard laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

She was dreading whatever Kasumi had planned for her. She was curious to see this Hock person, certainly, and to see how the master thieves of the world really worked. But the lengths the thief and Kelly were taking to pretty her up made her nervous. Make up, hair spray, nail polish, and high heels weren't her usual equipment for assaulting enemy strongholds, that was for damn sure. She was a confident woman, but part of her wondered if she wasn't getting in right over her head.

Mostly, it was the shoes that worried her.

"There!" Kasumi announced minutes later, looking distinctly satisfied as she backed away.

"Are we done now?" she asked, pulling the towel off that was supposed to be protecting her dress from wayward makeup. The last thing she needed was for this to degenerate into some girly gushy fest she didn't know how to handle. It was bad enough she felt a blush creeping into her cheeks.

"Of course," Kasumi replied, gracefully snapping her makeup case shut. "I'm looking forward to a little sneaking around," she admitted as the trio moved to the door. "There's little chance of it on the Normandy."

Shepard lifted a red eyebrow at the thief. "How is there _any_ chance of it?"

"Commander, please," she replied with a soft shrug. "How else am I to learn what's in your wardrobe?"

Shepard allowed an expression of resignation to cross her features. "Of course," she replied dryly as the doors to the Crew Deck hallway opened up for them. At almost the same moment Life Support's doors sprung open and Thane appeared, but he paused in the doorway to allow the ladies to pass first through the too-full corridor. The commander glanced his way as she passed, and he met her gaze.

"Shepard," he offered.

"Thane."

"Good luck on your mission," he then said, transferring his gaze to Kasumi.

"Thanks," she replied, and then, "I'll take good care of the Commander."

He bowed his head, and Shepard turned her eyes to Kasumi. "Take care of me?" she asked, "I'm the definition of safety!"

Kelly laughed. "In what _universe_?"

They loaded into the elevator and Kelly reached to order it to the upper floors – Shepard was too busy watching her feet. As the doors started their slow close, Kasumi's voice lit the tiny room like a lightbulb.

"We must have done well, Shepard," she said wisely. "Thane can't keep his eyes off you."

Shepard glanced over her shoulder, incredulous, but when she spotted the drell she found the thief was right. Thane's gaze was still trained on her, but it was a long time before his eyes met hers.

* * *

She was surprised when the doors to Life Support opened up and he wasn't there. She lifted an eyebrow. She'd only just made her customary sweep of the ship, leaving the Crew Deck for last, so where in the galaxy was he, then?

She stepped out into the hallway, suspiciously eying the doorway to the men's restroom. She took two hesitant steps nearer, cogs in her brain whirring. Luckily, her senses stopped her from a mistake that might come back to haunt her; as she neared the bathroom, she heard strange noises coming from the other end of the hallway.

As she neared the entrance to the starboard observation, she realized what she was hearing. It sounded like a fistfight, the dull thuds of bony fists meeting flesh and occasional grunts of exertion or pain. Alarmed, her steps increased to a jog. The doors to the room flew open as she neared, and she pulled up sharply.

The pair were sparring, Samara and Thane. Thane was dressed only in a pair of black and red pants, uncovered from the hips up, and Samara had ditched the metal headband that marked her as a Justicar. They twirled around each other, brief glimpses of biotic power shifting around their forms when they couldn't block a shot with hands alone. The way they moved together was dazzling, violent but somehow beautiful and definitely impressive. They didn't stop at her intrusion, and she leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest.

The asari aimed a swift kick at the drell's middle. He blocked it with a forearm, before spinning and aiming an elbow strike at her face. In one motion she ducked his shot, and aimed a fist at the place where a kidney would be on a human. He sidestepped enough to escape the full brunt of the punch, and brought his arm heavily down around hers, catching her by the wrist. She only stepped closer in to him and put her hip into his, executing a perfect body throw. He flipped midair and landed on his feet, and then they were back to the beginning of their cycle.

She wondered how often they sparred this way, and if they were always so... casually attired. She supposed she was glad that they were both making friends on the vessel – finally – and she could see where they had a lot in common. They both had kids. They were both spiritual and meditated a lot. They both wore skin tight leather to fight in. It made sense that they got along.

She just hadn't _known_ it so it caught her off guard. That's all.

A loud crack resounded through the room as their two biotic fields crashed into each other, sending both fighters stuttering backward at the force. They each watched the other for a moment, hesitantly, ready for more. Their breath was heavy, but even, and for a long silent moment they each waited for the other to make a move. When neither did, first one and then the other stood straighter, and they each let down their guard. Samara spoke first.

"You are well-trained, for such a short-lived species," she commended. At least, Shepard thought that was a compliment. Thane certainly treated it as such, for one of his faint smiles curled his lips.

"The hanar and the asari both train their assassins well," he replied, returning her compliment and at the same time giving his credit to others. Samara stepped forward into a slight bow.

"You are a worthy opponent, Krios."

Thane tilted his head softly in response. He was the first to turn to the Commander, as if he had suspected she was the intruder. "Shepard," he greeted.

"Krios," she replied. It sounded oddly stiff even to her, so she quickly continued. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was visiting Doc and heard the two of you." She shrugged. "I thought Jack and Miranda might have got a hold of each other."

"Nothing so serious," he reassured her.

"Ah," she found herself replying shortly. And at that, she had absolutely nothing else to say. Samara studied her leader's face a moment, before turning her gaze to Thane.

"I think a cool drink would serve me well," she stated politely. She bowed her head towards Thane, "Sere," and then to Shepard as she exited the room, "Commander." Shepard returned the nod.

To Shepard the room felt oddly empty with Samara gone, but Thane felt no such awkwardness. He extended his arm towards her invitingly, and then motioned her forward with his fingers. She lifted an eyebrow.

"I didn't come down here to spar," she said dismissively.

"Don't worry," he told her, his face serious. "I doubt it will last long."

She lifted her eyebrows in shock at him. What an arrogant little bastard! But in spite of herself she found her mouth pulling back on one side in an unwilling smile. She kind of hated him for making her grin when she should have been annoyed at him for the jab, but she let it slide.

With such a challenge thrown down, she could hardly say no, so she pushed off from her spot against the door frame begrudgingly and joined him in the middle of the room. When she got there she tilted her head slightly as if to say, 'Okay, you have me here.' He clasped his hands behind his back and took two small steps back towards the center of the room.

"I will refrain from using biotics," he promised. She had absolutely no talent in that area whatsoever, and she supposed he was trying to make the battlefield more even. Her response was quick.

"Don't hold back on my account."

His eye ridges rose almost imperceptibly, but he bent his head in acceptance and then bent his knees lightly in readiness. Shepard immediately wondered why the hell she had accepted this invitation and why on Earth she had been brazen enough to tell him to come at her full force, when she knew good and well she would probably get her ass kicked. She knew the answer already, though: pride. She was pretty sure both her butt and her pride were going to be smarting very shortly.

He made the first move, light, quick strikes at her arms which she either evaded or allowed to land. He was testing her, looking for weaknesses. The next time he started testing her, she returned readily with several light punches that landed in his abdomen and chest. He seemed surprised by her, and a brief smirk claimed her lips. He eyed the coy expression long enough to get back into form.

As he moved towards her again his movements were more precise. His punches landed, and when she moved to block them he used that to his advantage as well, landing two more strikes that made her wince – whether in pain or humiliation she wasn't quite sure. She was glad to be able to retreat from him and collect herself, but she didn't rest. Her counterattack came swiftly.

Only then did their spar begin in earnest. Up until that point, they had been experimenting, evaluating the other for skill and defense. This time, they both seemed ready to simply duke it out, and they met as indifferent equals in the middle of the square. If she had time, she might have been surprised by blunt and unapologetic way they came at each other. They didn't strike to bruise, but for a pair that had become such close confidantes they weren't hesitant to go toe to toe in battle.

She found their closeness actually lent them each a subtle advantage. She knew how he operated, and vice versa. She knew exactly how far he was willing to go, his intolerance for being disadvantaged, and exactly at what point he was likely to press too far and leave himself open to attack. He knew that she was coldly determined and practically unstoppable in her zone, but that she would go full force until she ran out of energy and only then retreat to a more conservative position. They both tried to spot that crucial moment in the other when they would make themselves vulnerable, and both hoped they weren't the first one to give themselves away.

It was more like playing chicken than sparring. In the meantime, their bodies went through the motions. He struck. She blocked. He sidestepped her counterattack, tried to take the advantage. She evaded, and tried to gain a hold. He spun away, and she retreated. All the while, they watched each other, biding their time, and at exactly the same moment they each seemed to find what they had been looking for in the other.

He moved like fire, raining jabs and kicks down on her in one long, synchronized movement. He chained the attacks together fluidly, spinning and stepping so that there was no break for her to regain her footing or her breath. She only had time to react defensively, or maybe she had just let herself get too worn out and didn't have the energy to both defend _and_ attack. Either way, for a few moments he had the decided upper hand, and she was forced to simply block as many hits as she could and hope she didn't give him leeway for more.

But like any good soldier, she waited for opportunity. And eventually, it came. He volleyed two kicks her way. She blocked the first, before lightly redirecting the second to throw him off. She spun into him as he tried to regain his balance, forcing her leg behind his knee and throwing her hip into his. He hit the ground with a thud.

With a spin of his body, he caught her behind the legs and she fell to the floor beside him. The sparring deteriorated into grappling. She scrambled, snaking a leg between his to weave them together in a leg lock – trying to get an advantage with only half his bodyweight and force. It wasn't nearly enough, however, and with embarrassing ease he turned the tables, rolling them and pushing her back to the ground. He had her pinned, on all fours with his legs between hers, but she used the momentum of his roll to her own advantage to turn the tables right back. She locked her ankles behind his waist, lifted her hips against his, and sent them spinning across the floor.

Her weight was on his waist, her knees anchored, but it was like he knew _every_ counter in the book and in half a moment he was working his magic again, throwing her off balance. He hooked his ankle behind hers, took hold of her elbow, and bucked his hips, throwing her off over one of his shoulders.

She wound up staring at the ceiling again, her body slapping against the floor and her limbs flailing inelegantly. He swooped down on her, bumping his knees beneath her thighs to keep her off balance and leaning in as if to prepare for a pin, but he froze in place before he got that far. He stared down into her face in perfect surprise, before slowly letting his eyes move down both their bodies. They came to rest on the place where cold gunmetal laid against the tender skin beneath his ribcage. He blinked at the pistol she held in silence. It was the one that Samara usually carried, and he assumed his throw had put it within reach.

He let his eyes coast back up to her face, one eye ridge lifted skeptically. She couldn't tell by his expression if he was annoyed or impressed. "You are well-trained," he conceded, and then he mimicked Samara's tone as he added, "for a Marine."

Her lips quirked in a smirk. "You're not bad either," she replied, "for an assassin."

"An unarmed assassin against an armed Marine is hardly a fair fight," he complained. Or at least, she thought he was complaining, up until the moment he swiped her pistol out of her hand and pinned her wrist to the floor. He tilted his head like a puppy dog examining something curious. "Particularly when you don't have your finger on the trigger," he explained.

The tone of the entire encounter changed in an instant. He hovered above her, his weight on her forearms, her heels against his thighs, and for the life of her she couldn't get her mind out of the gutter. It wasn't the first time they had been in a provocative position since the spar began, but it was the first time she wasn't too focused on winning to notice. This time her eyes jumped involuntarily to his bare skin and her thoughts stalled somewhere around 'abs, pecs, biceps, abs, pecs, biceps.' By the time her eyes made it back to his face, she was sure he'd noticed it.

"Well, next time I'll just shoot you," she lied. One corner of his mouth twitched lightly and her eyes lifted with it. Though they had a connection as true as she'd ever felt with anyone, when their eyes met something new happened. Up until then either one of them hadn't been flint, or the other one hadn't been steel. This time, there was a mutual spark.

He sat up, and offered her a hand. She took it and he pulled her back to a seated position herself. Then they each used the other as leverage as they pulled into a standing position.

The doors to the room slid open as they rose. Samara stood in the doorway still looking somewhat sheepish, not that Shepard was paying attention. She was watching Thane move back towards his jacket where it hung on the back of a chair. The Justicar held her arms crossed behind her back and observed them both in silence.

"Welcome back," Shepard finally greeted more brightly than before.

"Thank you," the asari replied as she walked further into the room. "I'm sorry again for giving you a scare, Shepard."

The redhead waved the apology away with a dismissive sound. "Forget it," she told her. She leaned to pick up the pistol she had borrowed from the Justicar, and set it back where she found it. Her thoughts weren't on the asari at all.

"Thane and I have only recently begun sparring," the matron continued, finally pulling the other woman's eyes back to her. The Justicar seemed intent to pass some message along, though Shepard couldn't imagine what. She had no idea how cross she had looked when she had discovered the pair earlier, and how adamantly Samara was determined to correct any mistaken impressions – for Thane's sake, if not for her own. So she admitted,

"He appreciates the distraction when you are ashore without him."

Shepard blinked at Samara in disbelief, her mouth hanging open and then morphing into a diverted grin. The asari quickly realized her mistake and hastened to reword herself. "That is, when there is a _mission_ without him."

It took everything she had to beat most – but not all – of the humor out of her voice when she responded, "I see," and glanced at Thane. The drell looked like he had swallowed something unpleasant as he shrugged into his jacket, and then clasped his hands behind him.

"I dislike being left behind when a friend is in danger," he admitted stiffly.

She shook her head lightly, as if she had never entertained any other reason for his unease. "Naturally," she said, and crossed her arms as she watched him bow to both of them and turn to retreat. She glanced at Samara, who looked downright distraught at her second faux pas - she would never understand short-lived species - but her Commander's expression was positively delighted. She tilted her head at the Justicar in thanks for the endless teasing she had supplied, and then moved into the hallway beyond with the drell at her side.

They moved silently toward the door to Life Support, and for a brief, shining moment Thane thought he had got off the hook, that Shepard's wit hadn't yet come up with a suitable response to Samara's confession. He tilted his head to her in goodbye, turning halfway through the doorway before her voice caught him. For a moment, his spirits fell, but they quickly rose again.

"A friend, huh?" she told him, her tone full of that jubilant, triumphant note he had come to know well. He looked back over his shoulder at her, expecting her to follow it up with a giggle at his expense or a smart-assed comment. Instead, she said, "It's a start."

He blinked, and lifted his chin softly. "A start?" he repeated, as if he couldn't quite wrap his brain around it with just one iteration. And then his eyes swept her features, her eyes sparkling with good-natured mischief, her lips pulled partway in a smirk. "That is..." he began, and then he realized he was overthinking his words and a brief half-laugh escaped him. His own dark eyes held a jocular glint when they returned to hers. "Intriguing," he finally finished.

Her grin broadened and she finally turned, releasing him from the bind of her presence at last – though he suspected she knew that his thoughts were captive to her long after she walked away.


	16. Bare

She let the hot water pour over her for a long time, her shoulders aching from leaning over the mining controls for far too long. She carefully rolled the joints inside their sockets, feeling the tendons pop painfully across her bones as they moved. She sighed. All the useless amenities they had installed on this ship and they couldn't have staffed her with a masseuse? That's what you got when you let a bunch of terrorists design a ship – it was mental warfare, or something.

After the walls were all properly steamed over, she stepped out of the shower and into the room beyond, padding lightly to her wardrobe. Yes, she just wanted her nice comfy Alliance blues and then she would run down to the mess hall to feed her sorely empty tummy. As if to make her point, it growled loudly as she made her way for the other end of the room, and opened the wall closet with the kind of dull habit that left no room for notice.

So when her Alliance blues _weren't_ sitting on their usual shelf, she lifted her worst 'oh no they di'in't eyebrow' and stared. In fact, the only thing that _was_ in her wardrobe was that damn dress Kasumi had bought her, and she grabbed at it unhappily. A note had been pinned to the hangar, and she snatched it off impatiently. Kelly's bubbly hand stared back at her, punctuated with a smiley face.

_Sorry about the mix up! It seems something happened with your laundry. Don't worry! I'll have it all worked out later tonight. :) - Kels_

Seriously? What kind of ship was she running here? She lifted the dress high and glared at it, debating just how much she wanted food. She came to a grim conclusion and plopped back onto her bed, the dress falling unceremoniously onto the floor.

Minutes later, she appeared on the Crew Deck feeling a bit sheepish. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling for patience and then stepped out, putting on her steel face. She would ignore any and all comments about the dress. All of them. Her expression was blank as she moved out into the hallway.

"Shepard!"

She jumped about ten feet in the air as Kasumi appeared out of nowhere. "Jesus!" she exclaimed. "Don't do that!" But because the thief had just been through the gut wrenching experience of deleting thousands of memories just to save the Alliance's ass, she softened her voice. "What's up?"

"I... need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?"

"Well... I..." She glanced miserably over her shoulder at the galley where Gardner was cooking up something that smelled delicious, and then tuned her gaze weakly back to the taller woman. "Sure," she finally replied feebly. "What can I do for you?"

"Not here," the thief said, turning Shepard toward the Port Observation room, her arm around the Commander's shoulders. "I'd feel better if we discussed it in private. It's..."

She paused, her light footsteps coming to an abrupt halt. Shepard glanced over worriedly but the thief was staring at the floor. "You... aren't wearing any shoes," she pointed out.

Sheepishly, she covered one of her feet with the other. "I know. Laundry has them, I guess, and I didn't feel like wearing heels, so..." She shrugged and let her hands plop to her side. "This place is mostly clean, right?"

Kasumi's gaze was oddly tortured when she lifted it back to her commander's face. "Shepard you do make things... difficult."

She furrowed her brows. "I make what difficult?"

Again aiming her captain forcefully toward the Port doorways, Kasumi continued walking. "Come on."

"Okay...?"

The hydraulics hissed and Port Observation opened up before her. What seemed to be the table usually set up in Life Support now stood in the middle of the room, covered with what looked like a bed sheet. A makeshift dinner for two had been set on top of it, complete with the ugly but durable plates they used every day in the mess hall and what she was pretty sure was one of Mordin's test tubes with Kasumi's rose peeking out of it. It was all lit by one of those little emergency pushlights they drug out when the power failed, and the starlight from the open window. It looked like a scene out of a bad space farce.

"What's this?" she asked, turning around to confront the thief but she was gone again, cloaked by her omnitool. Instead, she found Thane standing just inside the doorway, looking as if he couldn't decide between being uncomfortable or right at ease. He had an expression that can only be described as apologetic, and gave the best explanation he could give.

"Kasumi was concerned you had never been on a date before."

Shepard crossed her arms. Normally she would have been pretty annoyed at that kind of interference but given there was both food and a hot drell involved, she was willing to overlook that bit. Her eyes were amused. "And I guess she conned you into being my date?"

He took a step forward as he explained, "She thought you might be less resistant to someone you know well." He paused a comfortable distance away and continued, "Do you object?"

Her mouth threatened a smile. "Not if you don't."

He said nothing in return, but his eyes drifted slowly to her bare feet on the metal floor. She looked down at herself, too, and she twisted her toes inward sheepishly. "I... didn't realize I was going on a date," she offered lamely.

"It's drell custom to be barefoot on a date."

"No it's not!" She allowed a smile to replace her embarrassment, grateful for his attempt to put her at ease all the same.

He gestured to the table. "Shall we?"

She lifted her eyebrows and looked at the set up. "Why not?" she asked, and moved to one of the chairs. She was surprised when he actually followed her to push in her seat, which made the whole thing feel a little more formal. Well she supposed if he could treat this very officially, so could she, even if it was damn silly. He took a seat across from her and for a second she tried desperately not to say what was on her mind... but she was Shepard, so she couldn't stop herself.

"This is..." She looked around the table for the words, before finally choosing, "cheesy. Really cheesy. If the crew starts popping out of corners to perform waiter duties for the evening, I'm leaving." Her teasing thus finished she begrudgingly added, "It's also kind of nice."

"It was Kasumi's doing," he assured her, reaching to uncork the wine bottle they had been supplied with. Probably one from the thief's own stash, if she had to wager. He moved to pour the wine into each of their glasses while he added, "I was merely a willing pawn."

She smiled at his choice of words. "She sure went to a lot of trouble."

He set the wine bottle back into the ice and considered something, perhaps a memory. "She seemed to take comfort in the planning."

She nodded slowly. "She must be one of those people who would rather focus on other people's problems than their own."

He met her gaze. "There are worse ways to drown one's grief."

She reached for her wine glass preemptively, her tone kidding. "If you're saying my method of coping stinks, I'm very offended."

He placed a hand on the base of his own wine glass, looking at her across the top. "I can hardly judge anyone for poor coping," he admitted honestly.

She allowed her lips to curl in amused agreement, and then lifted her glass. "Here's to being terrible copers." She added, shrugging one shoulder, "But making the best of it."

His own lips turned lightly up in a smirk and he nodded his head slightly, lifting his glass to hers. With a sip of wine taken she turned her attention to her plate, and the rather boring food upon it. It looked exactly the same as any other meal Gardner cooked, a pasta shell with tomato sauce, and roasted broccoli. Even if it _was_ just the same dish as any other given night, she was just hungry enough that it looked fantastic. Anyway, the setting made all the difference.

She glanced over at Thane's plate to see what he had settled on, but was surprised that his meal looked the same as hers. "Are you... eating Earth food?" she asked, her tone impressed.

He glanced at his plate and then back up at her, placing his elbows informally before him as he explained. "Yes," he answered. "If I find I dislike it, I will have given myself an excuse to avoid anything new for a while."

Her mouth turned into a laughing, "Ohhhh," at his jab, but when her chuckling died down she pointed at him lightly. "Well I think that sounds _very_ wise," she said, by way of complimenting herself. She turned her attention to her plate, scooping up one of Gardner's shells. Truthfully, though, she was distracted by watching him eat, since his reaction was bound to be far more interesting than a rehash of a dish she had tasted many times before.

Naturally, he went for the broccoli first, but he paused before he lifted the bite to his mouth, raising an eye ridge at her. He blinked. "Are you going to watch?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes," she replied with a grin. "Yes I am." And once that was out of the way, he simply set his face back to a neutral expression and bit into the broccoli. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded once.

"Not bad," he granted.

"Not bad?" she asked, clearly enjoying his barely concealed misery.

"Very well," he replied, moving his hands down off the table. "It takes like dung."

She giggled at his expense, wearing an expression that was unhampered by any more practical concerns. It was rare and he found he didn't even mind that he was the brunt of her joke, so long as she continued to wear it. "Payback's a bitch," she told him after.

"Indeed."

They both set about eating for a few moments in silence. She stopped after a bite or two, however, and turned her attention to him, her tone once again finding humor in the situation.

"This must be nice for you," she told him, refolding her napkin in her lap. "No need to watch your back."

He glanced briefly over his shoulder and straightened up slightly, before admitting, "It's better," though he obviously still had his doubts. She glanced over his shoulder as well and then tilted her head softly.

"Well, I'll watch your back for you," and then she lifted her eating utensil threateningly. "And I'm armed with a spork."

He allowed the barest hint of a smirk to color his lips, and tilted his head in a soft sign of gratitude. "That _is_ reassuring."

They each turned back to their meal and a moment later he asked, "Is this dish a particular favorite of yours?"

She nibbled a bit of pasta thoughtfully before replying. "I like pretty much anything that fills me up, none of that rabbit food." She shook her head at herself. "If I ever stop fighting bad guys I'll be the size of a house." She pushed her meal around her plate a bit in that way he didn't understand, but this time he didn't notice.

"Do you think you ever will?" he asked curiously. "Stop fighting?"

She stopped her rearranging to turn her head contemplatively, but her expression became honest and open when she finally responded. "When I die, I suppose," she offered finally. "I don't have much of a choice now, and I'm not one of those people who dreams about 'one day' and hopes everything will be different then. It requires an amount of faith I don't have."

"Faith?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," she replied. She gestured lightly to the Normandy. "I risk my life every day. Who says I'll even get a tomorrow to plan for?" She shrugged. "Act now, or not at all."

He tilted his head curiously. "You have never wanted a family?"

She lowered her eyes to her plate, feeling rather put on the spot by the question. He clearly was a family man, after all, and the answer might offend him. She found herself explaining by turning the question around on him. "Did you, before you met Irikah?"

His gaze drifted away a second as he remembered, and then it popped back to her. "I couldn't fathom having a family until Irikah."

She was glad she didn't have to find the words, and she gestured at him. "Neither can I." She shrugged, "Besides, can you imagine me as a parent?"

"You could not do worse than I did," he replied, turning his attention back to his food. She rolled her eyes at him in disbelief.

"Thane, you risked everything to keep your son from making a mistake he'd regret the rest of his life." She lifted her eyebrows emphatically. "Trust me, there are worse fathers out there." She took a bite of her meal, so it took her a long moment to realize he was staring at her silently across the table. She lifted her chin and he spoke at last.

"I never thanked you for your help with him," he told her.

She furrowed her brow lightly. "Yes, you did."

"Not with the Citadel," he replied, waving that away. "With how to speak to him."

She sat up a little straighter, remembering the conversation they had before they ever left for the Citadel. He had asked about her childhood, and she remembered what she said to him then with a feeling of regret. "If I had known why you were asking about my past, I'd have been a little more forgiving," she admitted.

"I should have told you then," he told her apologetically.

She shook her head lightly. "I figured you would explain to me when you were ready."

"I appreciate your patience." He gestured lightly. "I send him messages regularly. He rarely responds, but, Captain Bailey says he asks often if there is anything for him."

She smiled, genuinely pleased. It wasn't often the right thing happened in the world, so she took enjoyment in it when it did. "I'm glad."

He looked at her for a long moment. "So am I." At last he lifted a bite of pasta.

Some moments later, she started again when she paused eating to take a sip of wine. "You should know this isn't the best example of Earth food in the world – Alliance mash, you know."

He looked amused at her excuse-making, but it spurred him to consider something he had never asked before. "You have never told me why you joined the Alliance," he noted.

She considered it for a moment. "To escape," she admitted. She gestured dismissively. "It wasn't as dramatic as that sounds. Life at the home wasn't really that bad. I mean, I hate the word 'orphan' because everyone automatically thinks oh, poor kid, they had it so rough. But honestly? I probably had more people who cared about me once the state got a hold of a me than I ever did living with my mother." She shrugged and continued.

"I had friends. I had someone looking out for me, trying to make sure I did my homework and behaved myself - not always successfully. They even tried to place me with a family once, but I hated it so I let their cat eat my 'brother's' hamsters and flushed everything they bought me down the toilet – stopped up the entire building." She grinned at her younger self, clearly not ashamed as much as proud. She shrugged lightly.

"There just weren't enough people there to keep us all out of trouble, and I was bound and determined to be in some kind of trouble." She shook her head, remembering. "A few other kids my age got caught up in a gang that ran near us, so I joined. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when a deal went bad, and the police got me. I wound up in juvie, which probably saved me in hindsight. An Alliance recruiter came to see us, and I saw my way out. So I took it."

"How old were you?" he asked curiously, and a smile split her face.

"Ah," she began as if there were a story behind it. "Around sixteen," she replied. "No one had any real records for me so I stole the name of my bunk mate from juvenile and told them I was of age, and they let me in. And of course they eventually figured it out, so they sent me back to the nearest space station and threw me in the brig. Technically by that time I was emancipated and could make my own decisions, but, it was up to my commanding officer what they did with me. So this guy says if I finish my diploma, he'll let me back onto his service." Her face softened as she remembered. "He was Commander Anderson then, and a good man. Nothing's changed but the title."

"You care for him," he noted, and Shepard considered it.

"I respect him as much as anyone," she admitted. "He's probably the closest I'll ever have to a father figure. I don't think he cried when I died or anything, but he's the closest, anyway." She examined him, her thoughts turning. "What about you? Do you still talk to your parents?"

His eyeridges twitched downward and she almost regretted asking, but his response was open and honest all the same. "I could, if I wished."

He set down his fork and lifted his hands onto the table. She got the distinct impression he used them to psychologically shield himself from the conversation, even as he actively engaged it. She lifted her eyes back to his, but they were faraway. "The hanar gave us the names and locations of our parents when we came of age, but I had only spoken to them once. It was... awkward. They seemed grateful, but we did not speak of my work – it would have been difficult for them to reconcile their memory of me with the role the hanar had given me, even more than seeing the child they had given up in the man they met."

He paused and lifted his shoulders lightly. "Irikah encouraged me to include them in our lives when Kolyat was born. When she died..." He trailed off, and at last returned her gaze. She quickly neutralized her expression from the intense one she had unknowingly allowed while he was avoiding her gaze. "It's been some time," he finally finished.

She nodded slowly, debating whether to give her opinion unasked. At last, she couldn't help herself. "You should contact them, before we go through the relay." He seemed surprised at her suggestion. She explained, "I think they'd be proud."

He blinked silently at her, mulling the suggestion over in his mind. It seemed selfish to ask that anyone take pride in him. "I... will consider it."

That seemed enough for her, and she turned back to her plate.

For a few minutes, they ate in comfortable silence, until they had both slowed. She sat for a moment watching him chew, entertained by the thoughtful way his face moved when he took a bite. It was like he was searching desperately for something to like about his meal, or perhaps for a similarity between this and something native to home. When he noticed she was watching him again he looked at her questioningly.

"Are you done?"

She nodded. "Mmmhmm." She had never seen him look so relieved and he sat back from his plate, folding his napkin back onto the table. She grinned, then stood, grabbing her wine glass. He watched her inquisitively as she came to his side and then leaned down to tug his arm very lightly. He took her lead and stood, retrieving his glass. She lead him to the couch nearby and took a seat, curling her bare legs beneath her informally. He joined her, watching her too closely to truly relax himself. She rested her arm on the back of the couch and smiled lightly.

"How exactly did you get roped into this?" she asked.

"I volunteered," he admitted. "She asked to borrow my table and explained her plan. I think she was hoping I might offer."

Shepard remembered Kasumi's words in the elevator and figured he was probably right. She inspected him lightly. "So is this a real date, then?"

"I'm not certain," he said, which was mildly disappointing until he explained, "I have never been on a date."

"Never?" she asked incredulously.

"I don't believe drell- and human-kind place the same emphasis on the idea." He studied her for clues. "Perhaps you should explain it to me."

She figured that was a fair point and cast around her mind for the proper phrasing. "It's kind of a..." She shook her head. "Courtship ritual where people set aside some time alone to get to know each other better."

He tilted his head softly. "We often spend time alone, getting to know each other."

She took in a quick breath, trying not to get exasperated with him. "Yes, but when it's a _date_ you're interested in more than friendship. You're interested in getting to know them as..." She shrugged her shoulders up as she looked for the right word. "A potential partner," she finally finished.

A soft smile claimed his mouth. "I see. I would not have agreed if I did not wish to be here, Shepard."

"But you didn't even know what it meant!" she argued, but half a moment staring into his wry expression and she realized he had pulled a fast one on her. In explaining what a date meant to her, she had essentially told him what _he_ meant to her without ever having to admit his own feelings – though of course he could have told her _that_ much from the start. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Why you little..."

"Yes," he interrupted.

She paused and lifted her eyebrows. "Yes... to the date?"

"Yes."

Her annoyance fled her features, however much she tried to keep it around to save face. "Oh. Well, good." She took a sip of her wine and he watched, and they continued to sit, chat, and sip on their glasses until the entire bottle was gone. She didn't notice the time passing, only the way their conversation eased gently from flirtatious to serious and back again, the subtle pull at the corners of his mouth appearing more often than it had the entire time she had known him, and the way he didn't react at all when she touched him for emphasis of some point or another, the way she never would have attempted when he first came on board. They were simply comfortable, like the way they fought together.

A few weeks ago she would have sworn it would never happen, but here it was. She couldn't deny what was before her very eyes.

When the bottle was empty and they emerged from Observation, it became clear that the better part of the evening had passed without their marking it. The hallways were dark and silent from the artificial night imposed on the ship and the steel floors were cool beneath her bare feet.

"Wow," she said as they walked toward the elevator at a glacial pace. "I didn't realize how late it was getting." She turned toward him slightly as she walked. "Time flies when you're having fun."

"So does the wine," he replied as he turned into the elevator with her, and she grinned.

"That, too, I guess." She watched as he punched the button for her cabin and then tucked his hands safely behind his back. She tilted her head softly up at him. "I had a great time tonight."

"You should thank Kasumi," he deferred, and she gave him a look for his persistent modesty.

"I will," she said, "but right now I'm thanking you."

But he was crafty, and he deflected her gratitude again. "I should be the one thanking you."

She shook her head at him and finally compromised, "How about we're both amazing and so was the date?"

His lips curled in that subtle way. "It was."

The elevator slid to a stop and the doors opened slowly, and she stepped partway into the hall outside of her room, turning back when he hung just inside the doors. She considered him for a moment, before finally saying what she probably shouldn't. "I have a bottle of red from Eden Prime in my cabin, if you're interested."

She knew the answer before he said it, but she had to try. His gaze faltered, slipping to her lips and then back to her eyes before he softly replied. "Thank you, another time."

She nodded. It seemed she was doomed to fall for gentlemen. "Fair enough," she gave him, and then she stepped forward, lightly placing a hand on one of his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss him softly on the cheek. Yes, the cheek. If he was going to be coy, she wasn't going to reward him for it. She retreated partway to look him in the eyes and let the happy expression on her face speak for the affect of his closeness on her. "Goodnight," she said simply, and turned to walk the short distance to her cabin.

He watched her cabin doors close behind her. Eventually, the elevator doors did the same. And some time later – he wasn't sure how long – the elevator began to move of its own accord while he was still firmly planted in his memories.


	17. Ruin, Wreckage, and Romance

The ground quaked beneath her very feet so violently that she wondered if it would split. The corpses of varren and an insectoid predator she didn't know the name of littered the arena around her team, a mark of the devastation they had caused so far. What more could the Urdnot shaman possibly throw at them? If every krogan had to go through this rite of passage, no wonder they were such tough sons of bitches!

The earth rumbled to a misleading stop, and for a moment the three of them looked at each other: Shepard's shrewd green eyes, Grunt's uncertain but ready blue pair, and Mordin's careful brown pair. Then the ground exploded upwards no more than thirty yards from them. The thresher maw towered stories over the three of them, it's foul breath burning her lungs as it roared its dominance over the Tuchankan plains.

"Aw, shit!"

She pushed with all her might against the larger mass of the krogan next to her. "Move!" she ordered, and the trio scattered. She and Grunt ducked behind a rusty pillar while Mordin moved in the other direction.

She braced when she heard the all-too-familiar sound of the thresher maw spitting its toxic waste at them, and ducked when it hit the pillar they were using as cover. The sludge went flying in every direction, and she tried not to gag in disgust at the oddly mineral-like smell of it. She knew if the stuff hit her armor it would burn through like acid; suddenly, she really missed the mako!

The pillar behind her creaked then gave a loud, complaining groan, and shuddered at its very base. She looked up in disbelief and when she saw it start to bend just where she and Grunt were standing her eyes widened. "Shepard!" the young krogan told her in a panic, lifting his arms to try to stop their being crushed.

"No!" she stopped him, grabbing one of his impossibly large biceps. She tugged and ran, calling to the scientist on the other side of the platform. "Mordin!"

"On it!" he replied. She found herself silently grateful that the former Special Tasks Group operative was an old hack at this stuff and knew when cover fire was needed. He sent one of his plasma bombs flying at the thresher maw and it burst into flames, incinerating one of the thousand armor plates that made up its almost impenetrable hide.

"Now!" she yelled at Grunt, who followed her lead out into the open, sidestepping away from the wobbling pillar and firing as they went. The column gave another massive groan as a leg snapped, and Shepard shouted. "Look out!" For a brief moment the thresher maw was forgotten and the falling debris around them was all that mattered as they all dashed out of the way, Shepard leaping over a varren corpse as she went. The maw screamed in protest as a large cloud of dust obscured its targets, but the fallen pillar provided the perfect cover for her team. Shepard switched to her particle cannon while she waited for the dust to settle.

"Go!" she ordered as she fired at the maw. Grunt and Mordin followed orders, vaulting over the fallen pillar to safety. At the first feel of the particle beam ripping through its armor, the maw retreated back into its underground lair, giving them time to collect.

Shepard leaped over the pillar and hunkered down between her teammates, glancing from one to the other. She lifted one red eyebrow higher. "Plagued by genophage and nuclear fallout, and _this_ is how krogans test their adolescents?"

"Survival of the fittest. Crude, but effective," Mordin responded, analytical and scientific even in this setting.

"Good fight!" Grunt agreed, cocking his shotgun.

The krogan's honest, uncomplicated desire for battle was infectious and Shepard's green eyes shifted as she looked at him. One corner of her mouth pulled back with a devil's grin. "Let's kill this overgrown earthworm!"

* * *

The pleasant buzz of conversation filled the arena where chaos had taken place only just that morning. Firelight flickered across the twisted metal and stone, casting a warm glow on the destruction around the makeshift camp. It almost looked cozy. Bits of the mess had been strategically placed in a misshapen circle around the tall fire to discourage predators, though the inhabitants of the camp seemed more interest in using it as seating. Jack kicked her heavy booted legs against one tall stone pillar where she had perched herself, looking down on the others, while Kasumi was gracefully using a piece of twisted steel as her own personal chaise lounge. It was fitting somehow.

Wrex's strong voice had doubled in mirth and stature since he became leader of Urdnot, and it filled the air merrily. "Ha! Shepard." He slapped his old friend on her back where she sat next to him on a beam of metal, and he didn't seem to notice the way she had to brace herself to keep from pitching forward from his force. "A thresher maw dead and that pain in the quad Uvenk with it. I _have_ missed you."

Shepard lifted her drink high. The ryncol had been cut for the less robust species in the group, but her cheeks were still rosy with the effect. "Happy to be of service, Your Highness!" she replied. Wrex laughed once more at his new nickname from the jovial human.

"And in a few centuries I suppose your whelp will be trying to steal my place." Far from meaning the remark as a challenge, Wrex actually said it as a sign of respect, and eyed Grunt with satisfaction. The adolescent in question had been staring down into his huge mug of ryncol but looked up to give a lopsided, krogany smile – completely smashed, of course.

"Hell, Wrex!" Shepard replied, grinning. "I'm taking your job as soon as you turn your back."

The clan leader turned his gaze onto Shepard with surprise, and then roared with laughter. In moments, the jesting had deteriorated into a 'wrestling match' which largely consisted of Wrex pushing Shepard around the sandy stone floor like a child first learning to rollerskate. It was obviously going to end badly, but neither of them seemed concerned about that.

Miranda lifted one dark brown eyebrow as she watched them. She stood slightly outside of the circle, her arms crossed and one round hip jutting outward with disapproval. "I can't believe we're out here," she muttered to no one as she watched her leader's antics.

She hadn't even noticed Jacob was standing so close by until his steady, practical voice responded to her aside. "Come on, Miranda," he began, slowly approaching her like she was a wild animal ready to strike. "Shepard just wants to give us all a chance to relax. It's been a long road, and the hardest part is still coming."

"How are we supposed to relax?" She asked incredulously, her nose curling with distaste. "We're in the middle of nowhere on the most inhospitable planet in Citadel space, surrounded by the deadliest race of aliens known to man."

"Exactly," he responded with a shrug. "There's nobody getting at us here." She stared at him, a begrudging acknowledgment stealing over her features. He tilted his head softly at her, seeing through her mask at the root of the problem. "Shepard knows what she's doing."

At exactly that moment, the two looked up at the sound of a spectacular crash a ways off, a shout from Wrex, and Shepard's troubled gasps. "Wrex – hnf! Gerroff!"

Jacob turned his brown eyes back at Miranda and shook his head laughingly, a short, "Hmph," of amusement escaping him. She found herself smiling softly back and rolling her eyes lightly. There was a silent moment between them where only the scraping of their leader's far off struggle echoed between them, and then he reached forward to offer her one of the tins of ryncol he carried. She eyed the offering thoughtfully, before finally accepting.

"Cheers," she thanked him, her violet eyes glinting a little less seriously in the firelight.

"No problem," he replied with a shrug.

"You scratched my armor!" Shepard was saying as she stomped through the camp again.

"Ah! Adds character," Wrex replied, his characteristically dented helmet a prime example of his philosophy.

"So does shiny," she argued unhappily. Her muttering died away as she disappeared into one of the igloo-shaped 'tents' they had set up, pulling the collapsible metal doorway back closed behind her.

"Women," Zaeed said with a shake of his head. "Reminds me of a freelancer I ran with for a while." He was caught off guard by a chorus of groans from around the campfire, and stopped short. "Goddamn critics."

Garrus's dry chuckle took to the air at the veteran's expense. He turned his blue eyes the other direction, to spot one of the only people in the crowd beside Shepard and Wrex to have any real history with him. He couldn't resist the temptation.

"Tali has some good stories," he said in his characteristic rasp.

"No." Her face may have been covered, but the tone in Tali's voice left nothing to the imagination.

"You, uh, still have that shotgun?" There was the click of a thermal clip being loaded, and the turian quickly backed down.

At the quieter end of camp Samara stood rod straight watching the antics of the younger species with the kind of experience only won from many years and motherhood. She stood like a sentinel, her face impassive and calm while the others deteriorated around her. Drs. Chakwas and Solus sat together to the right of where she stood, their more mature natures making the trio naturally gravitate to each other. Of them, only Chakwas had partaken of any drink.

"I hesitate to even ask what the combined blood alcohol level is here," the doctor said with amusement. Obediently, Mordin pulled out his omnitool and a holographic interface popped up, large percentages hovering in midair over his arm.

"Fascinating," he said simply. Chakwas looked horrified.

Continuing around the circle, the slow and quiet end began to move gradually back into rowdier territory. Kasumi was lounging quietly and talking up to Jack where she sat on her pillar. The thief wore the smirk Shepard had come to know well, but Jack wasn't yet wary enough to know she was in danger of becoming part of a Master Plan.

"Ten credits."

"Make it fifty."

"Twenty-five. I'm a thief out of work, after all."

Jack narrowed her brown eyes thoughtfully, or as thoughtfully as one can look while swaying back and forth in her seat. "Deal," she finally agreed.

Kasumi's expression was hidden by the dark of her hood as she turned back in her seat. "Deal," she agreed with satisfaction, and she threaded her fingers lazily together over her stomach.

Apart from the rest, a pair of dark eyes reflected the fire perfectly, interrupted only every so often by both sets of lids. His thoughts were elsewhere and no where at the same time, pleasantly hypnotized by the buzz of conversation and the steady flicker of the fire. There was a definite comfort in the location Shepard had chosen for their evening off the Normandy. He had seen too much of the galaxy's worst sentients to ever believe that the innocent instincts of the wildlife here were more dangerous than the depraved cravings of 'civilized' people. With the crew of the Normandy before him and only Shepard's tent behind him, he found his eyes falling softly closed. He could almost let down his guard.

A shriek broke the peace suddenly and he spun quickly to catch Shepard darting out of her tent like a madwoman, bending at the waist and thrashing wildly at her red hair. "Get it off! Get it off!" He rushed to her side, still alarmed, to see a small multi-legged and brightly colored insect get thrown off to the ground. He instinctively crushed the tiny animal with the heel of his boot and stepped back, glancing down as the parts that hadn't been flattened twitched uncontrollably.

"Ugh!" Shepard shuddered from head to toe, shaking her hands expressively. Thane blinked at her silently until she at last regained control of herself, her hands wrapped around the back of her neck as if the deceased insect might still jump back up and attack her. When she finally returned his gaze the muscles in her face tightened in embarrassment. "It was in my hair!"

She immediately turned towards camp to avoid any further embarrassment, and only then did he allow his smirk of amusement to color his features.

Wrex, in the meantime, was laughing more audibly at the Commander's antics. "I warned you to keep your tent door closed!" The woman cursed, and turned to correct her mistake for the second time. She stopped in her tracks, though, spinning around to find that Thane had already moved to close the door back with a snap. It was her turn to smile silently where he couldn't see.

Stories and laughter filled the air of the louder end of the camp, providing a steady backdrop even for the smaller offshoot groups mostly conversed quietly among themselves. The subject of Saren and Sovereign came up, and the four who had been there were applied to. Shepard at length was convinced to tell the tale, and finally she began to weave the story.

After the tale of saving the Citadel was complete, from grim start to thrilling conclusion, Grunt and Shepard were asked to reenact the defeat of the thresher maw, which Mordin mostly ruined by correcting their gross exaggerations. Garrus fell out of his seat laughing at one such interruption.

"Then the tower gave a huge groan, and started to come down right on top of us! If we hadn't moved fast enough Grunt and I would both be pancakes right now."

"By my calculations, only 12.7% chance of collision. Less with wind."

"_Mordin!"_

When that was over, the conversation moved naturally on to tales of Wrex's own defeat of the Maw centuries prior, which held the entire camp its captive audience whether he knew it or not. His grizzled voice set the perfect tone for a story about krogan grit, and the backdrop of the current Tuchanka loaned his tales of the planet from ages past a poignant curiosity. No one interrupted to correct him, or to tease him for his telling. They were simply swept away to another place and time, the way only one among them had the years to really understand.

"It wasn't even a generation since the genophage had been unleashed on my people, and every krogan lost during their Rite was a hard one. There was talk from some corners that the Rite should be softened up, so that fewer precious young krogan would be killed during the transition to adulthood. Others felt that it was important to make the Rite as difficult as ever, so that only the strongest genes would be passed on, and then maybe we could simply outgrow the genophage. But mostly, my people just wanted to see a little bloodshed.

"I probably could have talked my way out of fighting the thresher maw, but I didn't. I wanted to prove my worth in battle. My father was the head of the clan, and we didn't see eye to eye on most things. I wanted to make my own name, separate from my father's. I couldn't do that hiding behind his shadow, asking for handouts. The only way I could get the attention of the krogans was to kill, so I was prepared to do just that.

"There was no shortage of people willing to be in my krantt. Some were probably hoping to buy status in the clan, but I imagine there were a few just hoping I'd turn my back long enough for them to put a few bullets in it. Uvenk wasn't the first to use the Rite as a cover for killing off political adversaries, and he won't be the last. I took only those who were truly loyal to me, those who felt the way I did about matters." His deep, gravelly voice broke into a laugh. "Boy, did that piss off the old man.

"By the time the thresher maw showed itself, my krantt was in bad shape. Of the three who had come in with me, one could barely hold his gun, another was limping, and I could only see out of one eye." He paused to point one finger at the scar that ran down one side of his face. "The other was swollen, and pooled with blood. And that's one organ that doesn't come with duplicates.

"But we're krogan." His hand clenched into a fist, and every gaze in the circle was turned on it. "We fought the longest battle with the maw that anyone had seen in years. The worm was relentless. It had survived many Rites, devoured many krogan. Some said it had got a taste for us. We were growing, encroaching on its territory more and more every day. And who knows, maybe someone had gone out and riled it up the night before, hoping it would kill me. It didn't. Instead, it learned a new taste – the taste of my grenade launcher pounding explosives down its toxic throat."

He was quiet a moment, his hands falling slowly back onto his knees as the listeners realized themselves, returning to the world around them from the one Wrex had been weaving for them. "When the explosion rocked the ground beneath Urdnot feet, the clan knew we were victorious. The maw fell in one great tower, and then _we_ developed a taste for _it_.

"The victory over the thresher maw did more than feed our people's stomachs. It fed our spirits. The genophage had made the heart of the krogan small and withered. The defect in our genes was not a war we knew how to win, so we turned our sights onto enemies we were more familiar with: each other. But the day the thresher maw fell after so long, we proved that despite the loss of our children and empire, krogan could not only survive – but prevail. The galaxy could throw the most vicious predator it could create at us, and it became our _prey_.

"The carapace of the thresher maw hung behind my father's throne for many years, its armored plates scattered across the plains for longer. Perhaps they are still there, reminding any who look on them of the might of the krogan, just as the remains from Grunt's kill will. Except this time, they will also remind us of the courage of his human battlemaster, and the loyalty and strength of her allies."

"What a lovely story!" Chakwas immediately replied, breaking the air of mysticism that had overcome the camp. Jack was snoring softly where she had fallen from her seat, her mouth gaping ungracefully, and Miranda had already wandered to her tent.

"You have honored us with your story," Samara added. "Few can claim such an insight into the krogan clans."

Wrex grunted, never very good at taking compliments, and particularly not when they were only half deserved. "Maybe it's time we did try to make people understand us. Maybe if they did, we wouldn't have had the genophage released on us. I don't know." He shrugged his great shoulders.

"The genophage was a war tactic," Garrus spoke up, "not a punishment."

Wrex eyed him coolly, as calm as ever. "You keep telling yourself that, kid." Garrus's mandibles flared softly, and he turned his eyes away. He had no retort, only questions that would never have answers.

Chakwas stood, stretching from having been seated so long. "I think it's time for sleep."

"Yes," Mordin agreed. "Very late. Will walk you to your tent. May need protection from terrifying Tuchankan wildlife."

"Hey! It was a really _big_ bug!" came Shepard's cry.

Dr. Chakwas's chuckling followed her into the dark around the campfire, where the tents were set up, and then silence settled onto the group as the fire blazed. If there were any more stories to be had, none started up immediately. Instead, after a moment seeing Wrex's battle in the roar of the flames, Shepard's thoughts caught up in something he'd said.

"Will the thresher maw's carapace really stay out there for years?"

Wrex nodded his huge head. "The parts you didn't destroy," he replied with pride. "There are few things in nature that can harm the armor of a thresher maw. Even the Tuchankan scavengers are no match for it. It will stay, bleached by the sun and scarred by acid rain, until its crushed into sand by time or krogan hands."

A moment's decision later, Shepard was on her feet. Wrex lifted his chin to watch her.

"Where are you going?" Garrus asked with concern.

"To find the carapace, and leave my mark on Tuchanka!" She replied, as if it was obvious. Then she shrugged. "Can't trust these krogans to get the story right."

"You're joking, right?" the turian continued. "Shepard, anything could be out there."

"I'll take a pistol," she 'reassured' him, shrugging her shoulders.

"Couldn't you do this tomorrow, Shepard?" Tali asked innocently, the tone in her voice saying she thought the Commander was crazy.

"And where would the adventure be in that?" she asked.

"Perhaps someone should go with you," Samara suggested, and her eyes flit across the fire at one person in particular.

"Come if you want," Shepard responded lazily. And then she marched resolutely away from the fire. Silently, Thane moved to follow after.

"Aw, let her go," Wrex told the assassin. "She can handle herself. Besides, she can't get far in this dark."

Thane turned to the clan leader calmly, but showed no signs of stopping his pursuit of the Commander. "Respectfully, I would rather not." He turned around again and walked easily after her, in no rush. He was confident he would catch up in due time; drell could see far better in the dark than humans could.

"Hmph," the krogan responded, and then glanced at Grunt. Grunt shrugged, and took another swig of Ryncol. Wrex laughed, "Ha!" and followed suit.

* * *

Her eyes took a moment to adjust, from the bright light of the fire to the soft illumination from the two visible moons in the Tuchankan sky. She was struck by the idea, as she tried to pick her way through the rubble in the dark, that the moonlight on this planet was a different color than on Earth. Back home the moonlight always had a soft blue tinge, filtering through the ozone overhead. On Tuchanka, it was a muddled gray-brown color, like the nuclear waste that still tainted the clouds overhead, and despite there being more than one moon in the sky the light they offered was barely noticeable.

That... would make things difficult.

She was determined, however. Whether it was the remaining effects of the alcohol making her bolder, or merely her own peculiar need to test her own limits, she couldn't fathom waiting until the sunlight of Aralakh lit the battlefield. She vaulted over the railing separating the wilderness from the ancestral battleground, landing lightly on the lifeless dirt below. Dust rose in curious curlicues around her Cerberus-issued boots as she dusted off her hands, and struck out in the direction she supposed the corpse of the thresher maw to be.

"Do you need a hand?"

A soft smile courted her lips where he couldn't see it, but it filtered through to her voice all the same. "I wouldn't say no to company." She was struggling to pick her way over a pile of rubble, the remains of buildings that had long ago fallen victim to nuclear war scattered broken beneath her feet. The nimbler drell, with his better eyesight, stepped lightly onto a higher piece of wreckage and took a moment to balance himself there. Then he squatted easily and offered a hand out to her. He made it look all too easy.

"Show off," she accused by way of thanks, as they gripped wrists and he pulled her easily over the obstacle. He turned and lead the way back down onto the other side, picking an easier path for her to follow. She found herself amused as she followed blindly after him, only barely able to pick out his silhouette moving in front of her.

"Aren't you going to tell me I'm being stupid?" she asked as he stopped to find a stable path over another pile of rubble.

"No," he replied, barely sounding as if he were exerting himself. She again followed his lead over the rubble, placing a guiding hand on the back of his shoulder as she hopped down. They both stopped to survey the area around them for any signs of their quarry, without much luck. It was simply too dark, for her, and for him there were too many obstacles. An aerial search would have been far better.

Shepard was only half paying attention to the search at this point, anyway. "Is that because you don't think I'm being stupid, or because you figure there's no point in arguing?"

"Frivolity is not stupidity," he replied as he moved past her, heading outwards from the camp slowly.

She was glad to see he understood. "That's true," she agreed, following after him. His voice drifted back to her over his shoulder like smoke, deceptively smooth.

"And there is no point in arguing."

She grinned brightly as she followed in his footsteps. "That's true, too." He came to a halt ahead of her and she was forced to come up short lest she run into him, and in that brief moment she found herself lost in the scent of him: the synthetic fabric of his jacket, and beyond that, the sweet, almost leathery scent of his alien skin. She couldn't deny that it was... different, that if this thing they had went anywhere it would take some getting used to just that he didn't smell _human_. That said, he didn't smell unpleasant.

In fact, she found she had already come to associate his scent with an emotion or a thought, though she would have been hard pressed to put it into words. It brought to mind the gentle hum of life support and the freshness of its clean, crisp air. She felt the lightness of her mind and lungs after drinking his god awful tea. She was reminded of that unspoken relief of getting back to base after a fight and knowing she didn't have to watch her back for a while. She didn't think there _was_ a word for it, but it was certainly a nice association.

If she had been standing too close, she didn't notice it until he started moving off again, and by that point it was too late to do anything about it. And anyway, it was much too dark for her to be able to tell one way or the other. She only followed after him, slower going because he could see his way so much more easily than she could. At one point he took them beneath an outcropping that blocked out the light from both moons and her worried voice called out to him. He stopped abruptly as she reached for him – just so she would know where he was.

"I can't see," she explained as she took hold of the back of his jacket at the bottom of his rib cage, the only way to stay connected without encumbering him. For a brief moment he seemed to hesitate, and then he was moving off again, slower this time, considerately waiting for her to catch up if the pull on his jacket became too tight. They navigated out of the darkness carefully, until she could see once again.

"Wow, look,"she said when she finally released her grip, and she pointed off into the distance. A storm was brewing far across the Tuchanka sky. Though the clouds occasionally lit up with lightning that looked more like fireflies it was so far off, the roll of thunder never caught up to them. They watched in silence a long moment, before Shepard's voice suddenly cut through the night again.

"There!"

In one of the flickers of indistinct light from far away, she had caught what definitely looked like something big and ugly. "Is that it?" she asked.

"I cannot tell," he replied, but they moved in that direction anyway. They slipped beneath a metal beam that jutted out from the rubble, and slid lightly down a soft embankment. Beyond that, a large drop off in the ground signaled that they were probably standing on what once was someone's roof, and it split widely down the middle, one half several feet below the other.

Thane placed his palm on the 'ground' and leaped down agilely, then turned back to her. She could have slid down in much the same way, though it was a farther jump for her, but he lifted his arms to offer help. She carefully placed her hands on his shoulders and braced herself, and as she fell he caught her around the waist to slow her fall. She was surprised by his strength, not just in the way he ably stilled her fall but in the way the muscles in his shoulders moved beneath her hands. He set her safely onto the ground.

When her eyes lifted back to his face they weren't without a glint of mischief in them. She supposed back home most people would think she was some kind of sicko for finding the drell as sexy as she did, but she couldn't help it. His strong hands around her waist, hers on his broad shoulders, felt just as natural as any human ever had. If that made her some kind of deviant, well, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time she had done something the rest of her kind found a little unsettling, and God willing it wouldn't be the last.

"Thanks," she said, her smirk audible in her voice even if it wasn't quite visible in this light. His head was tilted softly, perhaps curiously as he looked down at her.

"You're welcome." A far off roll of thunder finally reached them and his gaze jumped up to the horizon. "We shouldn't dally," he said wisely, and their progress began again.

"Hey!" she called suddenly, slipping her hand around his forearm and tugging once. And then she was off. She skipped lightly down a piece of broken stone that lead down like a ramp into a great crater, perhaps caused by the fall of the thresher as it plummeted to the ground. And there, several yards away, were the plates of the thresher's armor. It had been stripped bare already by the krogans from camp Urdnot, the meat stored for consumption later, but the carapace was left behind in one giant hunk as if the thresher maw had just got up and crawled out, more crab than worm.

The crater smelled like minerals, like metal and earth and the blank, hard smell of gemstone. She climbed up onto the now useless plates of armor, fused into one hulking mass beneath her. It was hard to believe this had once been the head of one of the most fearsome animals in the galaxy. It was even harder to believe that it was just as ugly up close as it was from far away.

Shepard cast her gaze around for something to use to mark her place on planet Thresher Maw, and eventually spotted a piece of rebar jutting out of the wasteland not far away. She jumped down from the maw's carapace long enough to grab up the bar of metal, and then climbed back up.

"What will you do?" Thane asked curiously, watching Shepard's movements with concern. He didn't think the maw's armor looked all that stable, and perhaps he had got in the habit now of looking after her in the dark.

Shepard pushed the rebar through a chink in the thresher's armor with all her might, until it was jammed at an unsteady angle. "Make a flag!" she told him decisively. And then she reached for the hem of her Cerberus uniform blouse without ceremony. She paused there, her entire stance a tease.

"Turn around," she ordered. Ever the gentleman, he obeyed, and with a smirk she turned her back on him as well, and lifted her shirt above her head.

He didn't know what made him do it. Perhaps he thought that Shepard wouldn't really go through with her threat to undress. Part of him expected instead to find it was some kind of prank. He was mistaken, but it was far too late to undo his actions then. He glanced over his shoulder for the briefest of moments, but his stare was held willing prisoner as the Commander's body permanently imprinted on his mind.

He had never seen her move that way before, though he had seen her move in many ways during the heat of battle. Her spine arched and her body stretched around it, bending lithely as she pulled the Cerbrus top over her head. It was more like a dance, art, than the very practical motion of removing clothing. He had expected to find it harder to be attracted to a form so foreign from his own, but the tension that built in Shepard's body as she stretched must have been universal somehow. Or maybe it was just the affect she had on _him_.

Beneath the uniform top she wore still another shirt, a smaller one, tighter, but this one was soon dispatched in the same way as the other, leaving her completely bare. He followed the perfect furrow of her spine until it disappeared into the waistband of her trousers. She had two small dimples just above her bottom and he was surprised to find he liked them very much – drell women didn't have them. She was curvier than a drell, her hips sloping temptingly into her small waist before it swelled again into her ribcage. When she turned just so, he caught the round of one breast beneath her arm, another difference between human and drell but one he didn't find unattractive. He swallowed.

He remembered himself only when the fabric of her shirt fell back over her body, and only then did he tear his eyes away. He blinked in distraction against the images which had been irreversibly burned into him, until she faced him and set her hands onto her hips triumphantly. "There!" she announced, her tone jubilant. He took a moment to collect himself before turning his gaze back in her direction.

He hadn't even noticed what she had been up to while she was facing the other direction, and only now noticed the makeshift flag she had erected. Her undershirt hung from the rebar, the straps tied deftly into knots around the top. An insignia was proudly emblazoned across the front: N7.

"Now I've left my mark," she explained, and jumped down from the carapace.

His voice was decidedly softer than it had been as he replied. "In many ways."

She tilted her head at him softly, considering him in the dark. There was nothing stopping them from returning to camp and going to bed like normal folk. Except that was the last thing she felt like doing. "Let's take a walk," she suggested. Nothing like ruin and wreckage for a romantic backdrop, after all.

She thought she saw the sheen of his eyes moving in the blackness. "Of course." So she nodded, and turned to lead the way. Their pace was slower this time, not only because she was leading, but because they had no destination. Their path was a meandering expedition through chaos, and overhead the sky began to reflect it. The storm that had been far off crept ever closer, and eventually a clap of thunder echoed across the destruction below.

They both looked up to the angry sky, but found the storm was much closer than it sounded. And yet, the lightning never touched down, and the rolls of thunder didn't quite shake the ground beneath their feet. Shepard tilted her head curiously and stepped further away from Thane as she inspected the sky, and then a look of realization crossed her features.

"We must be just at the edge of the enviroshield," she determined. Most of habitable Tuchanka was sealed off from the horrible nuclear winter beyond by an environmental forcefield put up by the Citadel to preserve what little remained of the krogan homeworld after they had practically destroyed it through nuclear warfare. She had seen pictures of these storms from orbit, but this was different. There was nothing standing between them and nature's wrath but an invisible bit of technology, and it was strangely and unexpectedly beautiful.

The clouds swirled around an eye like a vortex, glowing with their own light as electricity rebounded around the core. The sky around it was left with huge swaths of open, starlit sky, where the vacuum of the storm had pulled the haze in around it. Every once in a while the lightning would arc down towards the planet but would stop before it made it and shatter outward across the invisible shield. She had never seen anything like it.

She turned to glance around her for a better vantage point, and found the nearby remains of a two-story building. Or at least, the remains of its second story. Only the corner still survived, the walls missing on two sides and the others supported only by columns and the rubble that had gathered underneath. At her suggestion they carefully picked their way up the makeshift stairwell of broken beams, until they at last came to the safety of the flat surface beyond. In silence, they turned to watch the storm brewing, the walls blocking all light but that of the storm.

"That's amazing," she breathed as she watched the natural phenomenon. The closer the storm got the more light it cast on the surrounding area, and the more frequent the waves of illumination from the lightning became. Flashes every so often cast the wreckage around them into sharp relief, and she almost wished she had her omnitool equipped so she could capture it to remember later. Thane had no idea how lucky he was that he didn't need it.

She turned to gauge his reaction and was surprised instead to find his eyes on her, the storm overhead reflecting perfectly in his dark stare. He had been incredibly quiet ever since they found the thresher maw, and between the night and his own damnable reservation his face was impossible to read. Only when lightning lit the world again for a moment she realized he seemed to be staring through her to some other place and time, and her voice became concerned.

"Thane?" she asked gently.

He blinked and looked down to the ruined floor beneath them. "It is only a memory."

"Tell me," she encouraged softly, lest he lose himself entirely. She stepped forward, her expression concerned as she delicately touched a hand to his chest. She assumed it was a painful one, perhaps one of his wife, and she wouldn't have him suffering alone if she could help it. It made her feel helpless enough that he was alone so often in that damn life support center, stuck with only the perfect recollection of his hard life for company. While she was here, she would do something about it.

Instead, he surprised her. The lightning lit their faces again and he almost looked ashamed at himself. He held his hands tightly behind his back as he looked down into her face, and didn't react even to her touch on his skin. His eyes drifted closed and his grainy baritone held a deeper note than usual as he whispered across the inches that separated them, his voice somehow drowning out the storm overhead.

"Dying light on her skin, body arching, her scent – soft and clean – against the metallic tang of soil. She stretches, glimpse of the soft curve of a breast, and she turns, moving in naked silhouette. The storm rages behind her and I can see her broken skin for just an instant. She is different... maddening... My breath is gone. She turns to me. I've forgotten what we were meant to be doing. She suspects nothing."

His eyes opened slowly, and she stared back at him with an expression of mild disbelief mixed with something he couldn't read. Her eyes dropped to his lips and her eyebrows lifted. "And here I thought you were such a damn gentlemen," she chided. He inhaled to respond, genuinely apologetic, but never got the chance. Her hand slipped around the nape of his neck and she pulled him into a kiss.

He shouldn't have been surprised by her, but he was caught off guard anyway, stunned by the feel of her open mouth against his. She was so much warmer than he'd ever imagined, from her kiss to the feel of her body heat through their clothing. It took him a moment to gather his wits, to decide this was real and not some fantasy that had overtaken him, and then his body reacted like a rubber band pulled too tight. Thunder crashed against the enviroshield like a heart within its rib cage, and his body answered.

He placed a hand on either side of her jaw and leaned into her boldly, deepening the kiss without bashfulness. It was her turn to be caught off guard, though she shouldn't have been, either. Had she ever seen him be anything other than daring and capable? He set out to take her breath away, and he was efficient and effective; the instant she tasted his tongue against hers for the first time breath, thought, control flew the white flag of surrender on all fronts. The sound of the storm overhead had escalated like the rattle of a far off train rumbling through her head, as loud and insistent as the feel of his lips against hers.

She pushed against his toned arms, spinning him lightly but deliberately into the stone wall behind him. The most delicious, surprised gasp escaped his lungs as lightning spilled its imperfect light around them. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before she stole that gasp as her own with another kiss. Her body pressed into his, a knee between his legs and her hands at his hips, and in a moment he had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even tighter against him. One of his hands coasted down her spine and slipped dangerously beneath the hem of her shirt. Her movement hitched at the touch, and he took the opportunity her inaction presented.

Their breath mingled and his arms became a cradle as he spun them slowly around again so that she was up against the wall. He put some distance between them, slowing things down, his kisses becoming teasing and broken. She so wasn't ready for that. She hadn't explored enough of his body, he hadn't explored enough of hers, and she had been enjoying finding out that he wasn't always in perfect control like he so often seemed. It was nice to know that she wasn't the only deviant in this pair.

When the kiss tapered off to a natural end her disappointment was palpable. She looked into his dark eyes and the corner of her mouth twitched in soft but incomplete amusement. "So... still a gentlemen after all."

His eyes jumped to her lips, to the rest of her face, and then back to her eyes. Perhaps this wasn't as easy for him as it sometimes seemed. "I wouldn't wish to become... disconnected," he explained.

Her eyebrows moved skyward. "I thought you had to be sick or sad to be disconnected?"

His eyes moved back and forth between hers, illuminated only by the glow of the storm overhead wearing itself out. "When we nourish the body before the soul, when we heed the calling of our body without thought for the soul, we become disconnected." He tilted his head softly, his wise eyes composed but searching as he looked into her face. "Is _this_ all that you wish?" When she opened her mouth but found herself incapable of responding immediately, his own disappointment showed. "If it is, I am yours to command."

She wished she could say it wasn't a tempting offer, but she would be lying. 'Hers to command' sounded pretty damn nice. But whatever her body was telling her, she guessed her soul still had a say in things. She hated the note of defeat in his voice, but more than that she knew it would be a lie to say she felt nothing but the gravitational pull of their physical attraction. That didn't mean it was any easier to admit to feeling something more. Pitting her against her feelings was like putting her in the ring with a dangerous animal and no assault rifle in sight. She just wasn't _equipped_ for this stuff.

"It's... part of it," she admitted. "But, it's not _all_ that I wish." She looked down and straightened his mussed jacket lightly, pulling her thoughts together. "You're going to have to be patient with me," she admitted. "I tend to get into... disconnected relationships." She tilted her head lightly. "I'm not used to," she searched for the word, but finally settled on, "this."

She met his gaze, and at first all she really wanted to see was his reaction to her confession. She was apparently some kind of dirty drell rapist, and his damnable piety had ruined her good time. What she should have seen was the warmth in his expression as he looked at her. He knew her well enough to know that restraint of any kind was foreign to her, and that in times of frustration anger came to her more readily than compromise. She took her time now, wrestled with emotions she didn't often – if ever – give the proper time to mature, and found she had the strength to master them after all. The better he knew her, the more she impressed him.

He touched his fingers beneath her chin to lift her mouth to his, brushing his lips against hers so lightly it left ghosts of the touch buzzing across her lips. She hadn't even noticed before, but his lips were a different consistency from her own, smoother and plumper, like a balloon overfilled. He seemed to like that her lips were softer and more malleable, and teased with touches so soft they could have been nothing more than a breeze between them. If she'd had her way they would have skipped right over this kiss, but she had to admit belatedly that it was a good one, subtle and composed, just like him. This was the one that would stick with her, and maybe that's what she'd been afraid of in the end.

His dark gaze swept her face as the storm overhead began to die down, its soft glow illuminating only the sharpest edges of her features. His voice was serene. "Thank you for understanding, Siha."

She blinked up at him in confusion. "I think my translator just glitched. What did you call me?"

He smirked down at her. "Siha. Someday I'll tell you what it means."


End file.
